


A Member Of The Family

by MelanieR



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:14:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23453875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelanieR/pseuds/MelanieR
Summary: First season story. Uses characters created by Sandra McDonald in 'A Tale Of Two Tessas'. Duncan, Tessa, and Richie go to visit Tessa's sister for an extended trip.
Kudos: 8





	A Member Of The Family

France-March '93

"You know, Tessa, when you guys said we were going to take a little trip to the country, I thought you meant, like, a picnic or something-not going to your parents' place in Pontoise for a month." Richie's appreciation of country roads had dimmed quite a lot in the last hour, and continued to do so every time they hit a rut in the road and his head hit the roof of the car.

"With the exhibit showing there it was the perfect opportunity to visit," Tessa reminded. "Besides, you'll love it, Richie. The countryside is beautiful-you won't see another building for miles."

Richie cringed at the thought. "Hey, I'm a city kid, remember. Mile after mile of greenery could throw me into nature shock. It's not pretty."

"Stop complaining," Duncan said from the driver's seat, wondering when the kid would run out of steam. He'd been talking non-stop for over an hour on a variety of topics, ranging from Parisians in general, to the inadvisability of trying to fit three people and luggage into a Citroen.

"Who's complaining?" Richie asked, innocently. "I'm just warning you, if my eyes roll back and I start speaking in tongues, get me to a crowded street-quick."

"I'll keep it in mind," Duncan promised, smiling in spite of himself.

"You know, I could have stayed at the barge," Richie added, as an afterthought.

"All by yourself in Paris...for a month?" Tessa's tone told him very clearly what she thought of that idea. "Besides, my family is eager to meet you."

"Yeah, sure," he muttered from the back seat.

"I've told them so much about you in my letters, they feel they already know you," she continued, ignoring his commentary.

"Oh, great, so they know all about the former thief who's coming to visit. Jeez, they're probably hiding all the valuables as we speak."

"Richie......"

"Face it, Tess, not everybody's as crazy as you guys."

To Richie's added consternation, Tessa's parents' 'place' turned out to be a large chateau sitting on several acres of rolling hills just south of Pontoise. Although the nights still held a chill, spring had come early to this part of France, and there was, quite literally, mile after mile of greenery.

Richie went a little green himself as they pulled into the long circular drive in front of the estate.

"*This* is where you grew up?" he asked in disbelief, as he climbed over one of her suitcases and exited the Citroen.

"Yes."

Richie let out a long low whistle and started pulling luggage out of the car.

"You're in *way* over your head, Ryan," he mumbled under his breath.

MacLeod, who seemed to see and hear everything, placed a hand on his shoulder. "It's just a house, Richie, and they're just people."

"It's just a really *big* house, filled with really *rich* people," he threw back, uneasily.

"Richie, don't be ridiculous-they're family," Tessa assured him.

The teen didn't bother to point out that they were her family, not his.

Richie hadn't cared what strangers thought of him since he was younger and making a good impression on prospective foster parents seemed so important. After years of rejection, he'd built up an immunity to caustic remarks and assessing looks, or so he'd told himself. But now, with Tessa's family, he felt that old familiar sensation in the pit of his stomach that told him that, somehow, he wouldn't be good enough.

"Just be yourself and you'll have them wrapped around your little finger by dinner-just as you have me," Tessa instructed, pinching his chin. Funny how both she and MacLeod seemed to read his thoughts at times.

"Right, Tess. If I've got you wrapped around my little finger, how come I'm standing in the middle of nowhere in a sweater *you* picked out, with a haircut *you* gave me, waiting to meet *your* family?"

"Because you trust my judgment," she replied, without skipping a beat.

"Maaac," Richie moaned, appealing to the Highlander.

"Face it, Rich, she's got us both right where she wants us," Duncan said calmly, wrapping his arm around Tessa's waist and pulling her to him.

The couple had just settled into what could have been a heated embrace, when the front door of the impressive abode flew open and a petite, blond teenager of about seventeen came rushing out.

"Aunt Tessa!" she shouted, and all but flung herself at her namesake.

"Hello, mignon, how have you been?" Tessa inquired, hugging her niece. "You look wonderful," she observed, pulling the girl to arm's length. 

"So do you," Tessa-Marie replied, smiling broadly.

"Duncan," the girl welcomed, turning to hug him as well.

"Now who's this?" Duncan asked, playfully. "It can't be Tessa-Marie, she wasn't nearly this beautiful last year," he teased, returning the hug.

"Oh, brother," Richie muttered, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. "It's getting pretty deep out here."

"What's getting deep?" Tessa-Marie asked innocently, unfamiliar with the American idiom.

Both Duncan and Tessa regarded Richie closely, awaiting his answer.

He cleared his throat, eyeing the couple. "Uh, I'll tell you later."

"Hello, Richie," Tessa-Marie greeted, timidly. Their last encounter during her visit to Seacouver the year before had been full of ups and downs-mostly downs-and she wasn't sure how the slightly older teen would receive her.

"What, I don't get a hug?" Richie asked with exaggerated hurt, before giving her a huge smile and opening his arms wide.

The girl laughed delightedly, then gave him a powerful hug that belied her small stature. She stepped back wearing a radiant smile before grabbing a suitcase and heading for the house. "Maman will be right down," she called over her shoulder. "Come inside."

Tessa leaned over and kissed Richie's cheek, taking him by surprise.

"What was that for?"

Tessa looked from her niece's retreating form to Richie's bemused expression. "Thank you," she said, simply, then turned and followed the girl.

Duncan viewed the remaining luggage with some trepidation. "Well..."

Ten minutes, and several muttered curses later, Duncan and Richie stood in the center of the large foyer watching Tessa and her older sister, Elise, embrace repeatedly and chatter away in French.

Elise was Tessa's mirror image as far as height and build, but where Tessa was fair-haired with crystal blue eyes, Elise was a deep auburn with eyes a startling shade of green. Standing side by side, they resembled contrasting book-ends. Their physical differences complemented each other perfectly, and the Noel sisters had turned many a head in their time.

Remembering her manners, Elise quickly turned toward her other guests.

"Duncan, how wonderful you look," she told him, in French. "But the hair," she tsked with hands on hips "the hair, it is too long."

This conversation had become a ritual of sorts between the two, and was repeated every time they encountered each other after any prolonged absence.

Duncan gave her a warm buss on the cheek before reciting his part, in English for Richie's sake. "I like my hair this length."

"You are impossible," she informed him, in English this time, following his lead.

"And this is Richie, maman," Tessa-Marie offered, drawing the boy forward.

"I would know you anywhere from all of Tessa's letters," Elise informed him with a smile reminiscent of her sister's. "And, of course, Tessa-Marie told us all about you after her trip last year."

"*All* about me?" Richie asked, nervously, and heard a snort of amusement come from Duncan.

"Oh, oui," Elise responded. "Ah, do you speak the French, Richie?"

"Not much," he admitted, coloring slightly. "Just a few phrases. You know...'how much is that?', 'which way is the metro?', 'what's your sign?', 'I'm lost'. That kind of stuff."

Elise laughed, captivated by the young American's repartee.

"It might be better if everyone spoke English," Tessa suggested, smiling herself at how easily Richie had won over her sister.

"Yes, I agree," Elise said, patting the boy's arm, reassuringly. "Tessa-Marie, why don't you show Richie his room."

"Yes, maman. Which ones are yours?" the girl asked him, motioning to the luggage.

"You mean, which one," Richie corrected, picking up a suitcase of medium size. "Those," he said, indicating the remaining five, "are Tessa's."

The girl seemed to think this made perfect sense and merely nodded, then grabbed his free hand and pulled him along behind her. "Come on," she urged, heading for the staircase.

Once the young people were out of view, Elise turned back to her sister and Duncan. "Richie, he seems very sweet, but he is a little shy, perhaps?"

Duncan tried to control a burst of laughter, without much success, and ended up giving a good impression of someone nearly choking to death with Tessa pounding him on the back all the while.

"Sounds like they're having a good time," Richie commented absently, as the muted din rose to the second floor.

Richie himself was in a mild state of shock. Tessa-Marie had escorted him to a room-supposedly *his* room for the duration of his stay that was larger than some of the dorm rooms that slept ten back at the orphanage. The furniture consisted of a bed large enough for five, an imposing armoire, a dresser, a sitting area with solid wood table and stuffed chairs, a hope chest, two nightstands and three lamps. The far side of the room was equipped with a large bay window and padded window seat, and looked out over the enormous landscaped back yard.

"Something tells me I'm not in Kansas, anymore," he remarked, dryly, surveying his surroundings.

"Kansas?"

"Sorry, inside joke," he told the girl, dropping his suitcase on the carpeted floor.

"Duncan and Aunt Tessa's room will be right down the hall," she informed him. "After you unpack, come downstairs. Papa won't be home until later, but lunch is almost ready and, if I remember correctly, you are always hungry," she said, smiling up at him.

"I guess I could eat something," he sniffed, doing his best to sound haughty, but his loudly growling stomach ruined the effect.

At luncheon Richie was introduced to Tessa's only surviving parent, her father, Henri, a still robust and imposing figure who stood a good three inches taller than Duncan and made the teenager feel like the runt of the litter. At seventy you wouldn't call him old-at least not to his face-but to the eighteen year old, who had never known his grandparents, the man seemed almost ancient.

Elise's husband, Marc, didn't make an appearance until shortly before dinner. At 5' 11" he was only slightly taller than his wife, but he carried himself with such a degree of self-assurance that he seemed much taller. The estate may have belonged to Henri, but there was no doubt that Marc considered himself the lord of the manor. There was also no doubt that while he was fond of Tessa, and respected Duncan, he regarded the young former thief in his home with barely disguised distrust, watching him covertly as if he expected the boy to try to slip some silverware into his pocket, or perhaps reveal a hidden switchblade, or other weapon.

************

Richie managed to get through the first day without any outside diversions, and spent the next two days exploring every nook and cranny in the house. On day four, Tessa was scheduled to make a trip into Pontoise to check on the progress of the exhibit. She considered taking him along, but the thought of the active teenager amongst all those irreplaceable breakables made her shudder. Not that he would want to go. After more than six months of living around 'high class junk', and he called it, Richie had stopped being impressed by expensive objects d'art. Not that he ever really was impressed by the pieces themselves-it was the price tags that had his respect.

"Admit it, Tess, antiques are just hand-me-downs," he had told her one day, with a wicked grin. "I got enough of those growing up. Give me something brand new that didn't belong to several somebodies before me, and I'll be one happy camper."

This had touched off an argument that lasted more than an hour before Duncan finally escorted them to opposing corners of the room with orders to 'wait for the bell and come out swinging'. After that they simply agreed to disagree on the subject of antiquities.

As it turned out, Duncan had other plans for their young friend that morning. Shortly after breakfast he had dragged the loudly protesting teenager down to the stables to give him his first horseback riding lesson. When Tessa saw them again later that afternoon, Richie was limping noticeably and taking every opportunity to glare in Duncan's direction.

"Richie, are you all right?" Tessa asked, with obvious concern.

"No, I'm not all right," he grumbled.

"What happened?"

Richie managed to stop glaring at the Highlander long enough to focus on the tall blonde beside him. 

"I fell off the horse, that's what happened. I tried to tell him I couldn't ride, but did he listen? Nooooo, the great Duncan MacLeod knows everything," he said loud enough for the Scot to hear. "I may be maimed for life."

"Or maybe for an hour or two," Tessa suggested.

"Yeah, maybe," he conceded, "but in the meantime I'm gonna make him suffer," he said, eyes alight with mischief.

All was forgiven by dinner, of course. Richie never was one to hold a grudge-it just wasn't in his nature. It also wasn't in his nature to stay home on a Friday night. 

After washing up for dinner, he stopped by Duncan and Tessa's room to pursue an idea he had.

"Hey, Mac, what would you say to my taking the car and driving back to Paris for the weekend?"

"I don't think so, Richie," MacLeod replied, without looking up from the paper he was reading.

The teenager made a face and flopped down on the couch. "Yeah, that's what I thought you'd say."

"Don't forget, your license was suspended for that little motorcycle stunt you pulled at the Arc de Triumph last month," Duncan reminded, eyeing him over the top of the paper.

"Jeez, all I did was cut through the Arc to bypass a traffic jam. You'd think those tourists had never seen a bike before."

"Richie, we've been over this once already. The police won't give your license back until you pay the fine and take a vehicle safety course," Tessa told him, patiently.

"Oh, like I came to France so I could spend my time in a school. I don't think so," he said, dismissing the subject.

"That's up to you." Tessa was secretly delighted that Richie had lost his license. At least she didn't have to worry about his driving skills for awhile. "What's so important about this weekend anyway?"

"Babette's having a huge party."

"Who's Babette?" Tessa and Duncan simultaneously asked from opposite sides of the room.

"I told you about Babette," the teen continued. "Blonde hair, blue eyes, radical dresser."

"I thought her name was Jocelyn," Tessa remarked, looking confused.

"Jacqueline," Duncan corrected.

"Jocelyn was last week," Richie explained, unperturbed by the mix-up. "Jacqueline was three weeks ago."

"I give up," MacLeod admitted, rolling his eyes heavenward.

Tessa walked over and sat beside the boy on the couch. "Richie, I'm sure you can find something to do around here. Ask Tessa-Marie, she'll have some ideas."

"Yeah, okay." He looked over at the couple with a chagrined expression. "I guess I'm being kind of a pain, huh?"

"You're being a teenager," Tessa replied.

"And there's a difference, right?" He gave her an impish grin.

"Occasionally," she retorted, and reached over to ruffle his hair affectionately.

Watching them together, Duncan couldn't contain a smile. These two people who came from different worlds, and meant everything to him.

Tessa, who had a tendency to be too serious, by far, and Richie, who's irrepressible humor was both a comfort and an irritant. 

She was raised in a fine home by loving parents, he had spent his life see-sawing between foster homes and the streets. 

Tessa dressed with understated elegance. Richie thought 'mix and match' had something to do with cooking.

One mortal, one immortal.

Under normal circumstances they never would have met, and yet they were oddly alike.

They could both blind you with a smile, or say a thousand words with just a look. They shared an annoying fondness for chili dogs and old horror movies, and they both trusted him-unconditionally.

MacLeod had known love before, but he couldn't remember a time when he didn't feel that something was missing in his life-they made him feel 'whole'.

"Well, I don't know about you two," he said, interrupting their by-play, "but I'm hungry."

"Yes, Elise should be announcing dinner any time now," Tessa agreed, getting to her feet with her usual grace. "What about you, Richie? Think you could eat something?"

"Well, I guess I could force something down. Just to be polite, of course." 

"Of course," she toned, smiling as she linked her arm through Duncan's and they started downstairs, with Richie close behind.

Since dinner wasn't quite ready, everyone wandered into the sitting room where Duncan and Marc got into a heated exchange on capitalism, while Tessa and Elise discussed the finer points of the neo-classical movement. Richie suffered in silence for fifteen minutes, then decided to take Tessa's earlier advice, and went in search of Tessa-Marie who, along with her grandfather, had yet to join the group. After almost ten minutes of fruitless searching, Richie was starting to equate locating one small teenage girl in a mansion to finding a needle in a haystack. His rumbling stomach had him heading back toward the dining room as the girl in question exited the library, heading in the same direction.

"Hey, TM, wait up!" Richie called, quickly closing the distance between them.

Tessa-Marie looked up at him, puzzled. "TM?"

"Well, Tessa-Marie gets to be a mouthful after a while, but if you don't like it..."

"No...no it's fine," she told him, smiling brightly. "No one but Aunt Tessa has ever given me a nickname before."

"That's right, she calls you a steak, or something," he kidded.

The girl smacked him playfully. "She calls me mignon because I'm small," she explained.

"Really? I hadn't noticed." He patted her on the top of the head, earning another smack.

"So, tell me, what do you do for fun around here?"

"Fun? Well, there is a theater in Pontoise, and Aunt Tessa's exhibit is there now."

"Uh, huh, that sounds really...great, but actually, I was thinking of something a little more exciting. You have a car, right?"

The girl's face fell. "No, not until I am eighteen. Papa promised to get me one for my birthday, but I'm sure he would let me borrow one of the family cars if there is someplace you would like to go," she added, eagerly. "Why don't you ask to borrow Duncan's car?"

Richie decided to hedge that topic, for now anyway. "There's a little problem with my driver's license."

"What kind of problem?" 

"I don't have one right now. Look, it's kind of a long story."

Tessa-Marie knew how to take a hint. "Oh, well, I would be happy to drive wherever you wish to go." 

"What do you know about a place called Gaston's?" he asked, after making sure no one was within earshot.

"I have heard many things but, of course, I have never been there. Papa says it is a scandaleux, um scandalous, but then, Papa is very old-fashioned about these things." Her attempt at sounding worldly-wise fell well short of the mark.

"And just what do you know about 'these things'?" Richie managed to keep his amusement to himself...just.

"I have been around," she sniffed, haughtily.

Richie snorted loudly at that. He doubted her experience went much beyond the brief fling she'd had with a boy in Seacouver the year before, but tactfully didn't voice his opinion.

"Yeah, well Mac and Tessa said pretty much the same thing, but I wouldn't mind checking it out for myself. If you'd drop me off there I could probably swing the price of a cab back here."

"Hmm, if we leave by nine o'clock, we would have time to see everything and be home before anyone is up," Tessa-Marie said, thinking out loud.

Richie looked at the girl suspiciously. "What do you mean *we*?"

"I'm going with you," she replied, as if it were a foregone conclusion.

"Oh, no you're not. I may be crazy, but I'm not *that* crazy," he told her in no uncertain terms. "Your old man would cut me up into little pieces if I took you to a place like that."

"But *I* will be taking *you*," she pointed out to his increased annoyance.

"No way."

"Yes, way."

"TM!" He had assumed a hands-on-hips stance not unlike those Tessa and Duncan used with him on occasion.

"Richie!" Small didn't necessarily mean timid, and Tessa-Marie matched him stance for stance.

When he continued to glare at her Tessa-Marie did a drastic turnaround, fluttering her lashes at him and giving her much practiced helpless female look. "Please, Richie. I've always been afraid to go alone, but...I suppose I'll have to if *you* won't take me." This statement ended on a heart-wrenching sigh, also well practiced.

The combination of blue eyes and heavy sighs, along with the lilting French accent did Richie in. He knew he was being manipulated, heck he'd pulled his own version of that one himself a few times, but he found himself saying yes before he could stop.

"You're sure no one will find out?" 

"I am sure," she replied, smiling up at him. "We will tell everyone that there is a show in Pontoise. It will not be a lie, there are always shows in Pontoise." 

Richie was beginning to sympathize with Duncan and Tessa. Dealing with a teenager could be pretty frightening.

***************

Richie was a little unnerved by the ease with which Tessa-Marie convinced her parents to let her borrow the car so they could go into town. She told them that they would be in no hurry and that no one should wait up. Tessa was overjoyed that Richie and her niece were bonding and that he had found some outside entertainment, and he couldn't help the twinge his conscience gave him as he looked at her pleased countenance. That twinge kept reasserting itself throughout dinner and he thought about calling the whole thing off once or twice, but then this little voice would say that they weren't hurting anyone, so what the heck. 

That little voice had gotten him into trouble many times in his eighteen years.

Later that evening as the teens made there way through the dimly-lit garage, Richie began to question the wisdom of their plan once more. "You're sure we'll have plenty of time, right? I don't want your old man siccing the cops on us if his car's not back in the morning."

"Not to worry, Richie. We'll be back long before anyone is up. If we replenish the petrol on the way home, Papa will never suspect."

"If you say so."

"Here it is," the girl announced, stopping next to a silver, two-door roadster.

Richie took a good look at the car and his mouth dropped open. "This is an Aston Martin," he said in a voice pitched slightly higher than usual.

"Yes," Tessa-Marie agreed.

"An Aston Martin," Richie repeated, pointing at the vehicle.

"I know."

Richie wore an expression reminiscent of a kid in a candy store and approached the car hesitantly, as if it might vanish once he was within reach. "Wow," he exclaimed, as he finally laid a hand on the hood. "Supercharged 335-horsepower, inline-six, does zero to sixty in 5.7 seconds," he droned, oblivious to his companion's evident lack of interest in the subject matter. "These things cost around $125,000," he informed her, uneasily. "Maybe we'd better borrow something else," he suggested, with some reluctance.

"I suppose we could take maman's Ferrari," she offered guilelessly.

"Ferrari," Richie muttered, closing his eyes. He could feel a definite headache coming on. "On second thought, the Aston Martin's just fine."

"Bon."

"I don't suppose I could drive."

"But you do not have a license," she thoughtfully pointed out.

"Yeah, right." For the first time, Richie wished he'd given in and attended the vehicle safety course and paid the stupid fine.

*************

The show in Pontoise, which they had no intention of attending, started at nine-thirty and ended at eleven-thirty. This would have had them returning after midnight, well after everyone had turned in for the night. Tessa-Marie calculated the travel time to their actual destination to be just under one hour. Leaving the house by nine would have them arriving at Gaston's close to ten, which she informed Richie was perfect, as it didn't open until nine.

One hour there, one hour back and approximately three hours to enjoy the sights would have them home, safe and sound, by two a.m., and no one the wiser. 

Gaston's was a garishly lit establishment, easily seen from the Route departementale they were traveling on. Richie had Tessa-Marie park the car in a middle-class neighborhood several blocks away and they walked the remaining distance. It still amazed him that France didn't seem to have the same class distinctions as the U.S., with expensive homes within a few miles of hovels, but he wasn't taking any chances with a car with a six digit price tag.

No one within the bar appeared concerned with their ages. As a matter of fact, no one seemed eager to make eye contact long enough to determine who belonged, and who didn't. Richie had been in enough places with the same mentality in the states to know what that meant.

Somehow he'd thought it would be like one of the discotheques in Paris, only a little wilder. The former thief was acutely aware of the number of illegal and illicit transactions going on around them, and mentally kicked himself for letting Tessa-Marie come along. He had attempted to leave with her immediately after they arrived, admitting that Tessa and MacLeod had been right about this one and they were in way over their heads. Tessa-Marie had actually stamped her foot at him and refused to go.

"We have only just arrived," she told him, petulantly, "and I want to see everything."

"TM..." Richie tried to put on a stern face, but Tessa-Marie just thought he looked cute, and told him so.

"Oh, all right," she acquiesced, when he started muttering under his breath, "one hour. Remember," she said, when he started to argue further, "I have the keys." She had proceeded to dangle them in front of him before tossing them back into her purse.

He'd kept one eye on her, and one on his watch ever since. Twenty minutes to go. Somehow this little adventure was just not going as he'd planned.

Beside him at the dirty table, Tessa-Marie sat mesmerized in a combination of shock and amazement at the motley assortment of riffraff flowing in and out of both the front and back doors.

A severely pretty woman, wearing a fishnet body stocking that left little to the imagination, had made several trips past their table in the last five minutes, throwing Richie a wide array of salacious glances, which he wisely chose to ignore. In a last ditch attempt to gain his attention, she stuck out her tongue displaying a gold ring which pierced the tip. This didn't produce the desired effect, however. It only resulted in making the teenager feel sick to his stomach.

"Richie," Tessa-Marie whispered at his side, tugging fiercely on his shirt sleeve, "did you see that?"

"Yes, I saw," he answered calmly, trying to extricate his shirt from her tenacious grip.

An anemic-looking youth sitting at a nearby booth suddenly lurched to his feet and headed for the bar, weaving precariously from side to side. His T-shirt was ripped in the popular fashion, as were his jeans. This in itself was quite common-the fact that the slashes in his jeans traveled to his waist and one pale nether cheek was hanging through one of the rear openings, was not.

Tessa-Marie's eyes were about to pop out of her head. "Mon Dieu, did you see *that*?"

"Would you stop that?!" Richie hissed, pulling her fingernails out of his forearm. "You're attracting attention."

"*I* am attracting attention? *He* has no underwear!"

"Okay, we're outta here," Richie announced, grabbing her hand and pulling her along behind him.

Since they were closer to the back door, that was Richie's goal, and they headed for it as fast as Tessa-Marie's short legs would allow. There was a group of four or five individuals, mostly in shadow, leaning against the wall in their path. As the teenagers passed, one of the shadows detached itself from its fellows and threw out an arm to halt their progress.

"Magnifique," he commented, latching onto Tessa-Marie's arm.

"Que voulez-vous? Go away!" the girl shouted, disgusted and alarmed.

Richie quickly placed himself between Tessa-Marie and the man. "Hey, pal, hands off the lady," he growled.

"Ah, Americain," the greasy individual sneered.

"That's right, I'm an American, and the lady's with me."

The group erupted in ugly laughter at that. "Look around you, there are no ladies here."

"Yeah, you're right, so I guess we'd better leave," Richie offered, reasonably, and attempted to move past them. Several of the men moved to block his way.

"Why would she want to leave with an Americain, when she could be with me?" 

"Maybe because she's got good taste." Richie knew he was pushing his luck. He was badly outnumbered, but good sense flew out the window in the space of a heartbeat.

"What, you think she prefers a little boy to a man?" he sneered.

"Yeah, well at least I bathe regularly," Richie replied, wrinkling his nose.

"Que?" 

"Ee sezs you stink," one of his cronies supplied, as he and the other members of the pack broke out in gales of laughter at their friend's expense.

He turned toward them, laughing harshly along with them, then suddenly turned back to face Richie, his arm lashing out unseen.

Before Richie had a chance to react, a fast right connected with his jaw, neatly splitting his lip. The punch caught Richie unaware, and knocked him back several feet into one of the tables behind him. The party there took exception to wearing their drinks and rose to their feet with a number of expletives.

Richie quickly backpedaled away from the much larger men, apologizing in both French and English. He pushed Tessa-Marie aside as one of the individuals continued to advance on him. This time he saw the punch coming, and ducked it cleanly-the spectator standing behind him wasn't so lucky.

After that, things escalated at an alarming rate.

The small scuffle turned into a free-for-all between the two groups, with Richie and Tessa-Marie caught in the middle.

Evidently fist fights were a not uncommon occurrence at Gaston's and drew little attention from most of the clientele. Richie took advantage of the confusion in his general vicinity to pull Tessa-Marie out the back door. They were about ten feet down the alley when Richie heard the door open again, and nearly yanked Tessa-Marie off her feet in his haste to get out of sight. Crouched behind a row of garbage bins, Richie watched Tessa-Marie's admirer and a few of his friends enter the alley. After a short, turbulent discussion, complete with hand gestures, a knife was produced. Richie didn't understand half of what was said, but of the little bit he could make out he realized that he and his companion were in a very unenviable position.

"Richie, I am frightened," Tessa-Marie whispered, holding onto his arm for dear life.

"It's okay," he told her, trying to sound confident. He leaned back against the dumpster, mind racing for a way out of their current predicament. As he did a piece of cardboard dropped down from one overflowing bin and landed in his lap. A sudden inspiration hit him.

"Do you have any matches, or a lighter?" he asked Tessa-Marie, in hushed tones. He knew she smoked on occasion, had caught her at it in Seacouver the year before.

"Why would I have..." She trailed off as she noted the look on his face. Rummaging in her purse, she quickly came up with an unused pack of matches.

Richie snatched them from her and opened the pack. "How do you say fire in French?"

"Au feu," she answered, confused by his last requests.

He carefully lit one match, set fire to the entire pack, and flipped it into the exposed trash. It took only moments for smoke to rise from the overflow of debris and seconds later a loud whoosh announced the successful start of a rather impressive inferno.

"Au feu! Au feu!" Richie shouted, waiting for what seemed like an eternity before a crowd poured from the rear entrance, flowing into the alley. There were a few shouts for water, though most of the onlookers appeared more curious than concerned by the smoke. It wasn't until sparks floated up to land on the building's roof that chaos ensued, with people running in every direction amidst shouts in several languages.

"Come on." Taking a firm hold on Tessa-Marie's hand, the pair joined the melee.

Five minutes of careful weaving saw them free of the smoke and throngs of onlookers. Richie adroitly maneuvered through the surrounding alleyways in an attempt to avoid the main thoroughfares and had them back to the car in short order.

"How did you know which way to go?" Tessa-Marie asked, clearly impressed.

"Instincts," he answered simply. "Spending a lot of time on the streets comes in handy sometimes. Come on," he urged, "let's git while the gitten's good." Tessa-Marie didn't need to be told twice, but after repeated searches through her purse she still hadn't located the car keys. "I can't find them," she admitted, panicking. "We have to go back."

"No way." Richie moved her aside, then dug a small leather case out of his back pocket. The girl peered curiously over his shoulder as he opened it and selected a thin flat-sided object. He pulled it loose and extended it, before forcing it between the driver side window and the molding and maneuvering it around to catch the lock. The young girl was amazed at how quickly he had the door open.

"How..."

Richie quirked his eyes at her, smiling broadly. "Never leave home without it," he informed her, indicating the little leather case. "Get in, and slide over."

"But you don't have a license," she reminded him.

"You got keys?" he asked, his impatience showing.

"Well, no, but..."

"Then get in and slide over."

She complied without question this time, and he settled in the driver's seat as soon as she was clear. Reaching up under the dash he pulled two wires loose and proceeded to wrap them around each other.

"What are you doing?!" Richie figured Tessa-Marie was picturing her father's face when he saw the damage, and seeing her short life pass before her eyes.

"I'm hot-wiring it. You want to get home before morning, don't you?" He didn't wait for her answer. Apparently satisfied with his ministrations, he grunted once and the engine came to life. Richie slammed the door and had the car headed back toward Pontoise before she realized it. If all went well, Richie figured they would be back to the estate by one a.m.

All did not go well.

About thirty minutes outside Pontoise, on a stretch of road that had seen better days, the left rear tire suddenly lurched to the side with a sickening crunch. A loud pop followed, and Richie carefully coasted the car to the side of the road.

With no keys, he had to jimmy the lock of the trunk, which took less than a minute, only to discover a jack, but no spare tire.

"It's a $125,000 car. How do you not have a spare in a $125,000 car?" Richie went off on a tangent after that, muttering curses under his breath mingled with prayers for divine intervention. He didn't expect help from up above, however, figuring that somehow this was his penance for trying to pull a fast one on his friends.

"Mac's gonna kill me," he moaned, slumping down beside Tessa-Marie on a small hill beside the road.

When she didn't comment, he looked over to find her biting her fingernails nervously.

"It could be worse," he said philosophically.

"How?"

Richie frowned at that. "Give me a minute, I'll think of something."

If Richie had known that Elise had awakened during the night, and gone in to check on her daughter, only to find that she hadn't returned, he wouldn't have had to think about it long. Oh, yes, it could get much worse. 

Elise woke Marc, who woke Duncan and Tessa, who checked Richie's room while Marc checked the garage. Despite Elise's protests, Marc waited an additional hour before phoning the police.

It was nearly an hour later that the gendarmes appeared at their door to announce finding no sign of either the children or the vehicle, in or around Pontoise. They did not have jurisdiction in surrounding cities, and suggested that the family wait a little longer before contacting any other officials, as teenagers were unpredictable creatures. 

Marc curtly informed them that his daughter was quite predictable, thank you very much, and they could keep their opinions to themselves. Not too much later, Marc and Duncan decided to take matters into their own hands and search the roads beyond Pontoise, while Elise and Tessa stayed by the phone.

Oblivious to the chaos going on at the estate, Richie was trying to raise Tessa-Marie's spirits.

"Look, I'll tell them it was all my fault," he offered, trying to cheer her up. "Your dad will believe that." Of that he had not doubt. "Besides, it won't be long before someone comes by and we can catch a lift. Maybe everything will turn out all right." He didn't believe that, and from the look his companion gave him, neither did she, but saying it made him feel a little better.

Fifteen minutes later, a set of headlights came around a bend in the road.

"Here comes somebody," he said, flagging down the approaching car. "I told you it wouldn't be long."

Richie's relief was short-lived.

"It's Papa." Tessa-Marie said, in a voice that had a definite tremor, as the vehicle got close enough to identify.

A burgundy sedan that Richie would have bet was a Bentley pulled in behind the Aston Martin, and Marc and Duncan climbed out.

It was difficult to tell which man was angrier. Richie would have put his money on Marc, but MacLeod could look totally serene just before he cut someone's head off. He didn't look serene now-he looked pissed.

"We, uh, we had a little car trouble," Richie said haltingly, his gaze fixed on MacLeod's face.

Marc gave little thought to the car, but went immediately to Tessa-Marie. "Are you hurt?" he asked, towering over his daughter.

"No, Papa," Tessa-Marie replied in a small voice.

The man was visibly relieved, but was making a great attempt not to show it. He transferred his gaze from the girl to the car, then glanced back in the direction they had been driving, before settling back on the two teens.

"This is not the road from Pontoise," Marc pointed out, his tone cold.

Richie was still watching for MacLeod's reaction with a great deal of apprehension. The Highlander rarely yelled, more often than not a simple look was enough to convey his feelings. Richie had gotten pretty good at reading him, and right now MacLeod looked like he was ready to blow. He had been staring a hole into the boy's forehead since stepping out of the car, and Richie got the distinct impression that, had they been alone, he would have seen the Scot give full rein to his impressive temper. For the first time since Richie had met Marc Charbonnier, he was actually glad to have him around. 

Tessa-Marie wasn't feeling quite so fortunate.

"I will send Robert back for the car. Your mother and aunt are worried." Marc held the passenger side door open for his daughter, slamming it as soon as she was seated. A moment later he slid behind the wheel.

That left Duncan and Richie.

"Mac, I, uh..."

"Save it, Rich," MacLeod ordered, speaking for the first time. "Tessa's waiting. *We'll* talk later," he promised, darkly.

It was an interminably long ride home, with Tessa-Marie sitting next to her furious father and trying to look as small as possible, and Richie in the back next to a stone-faced MacLeod.

If it had only been himself and the Highlander, Richie might have tried to joke his way out of this, but as it was he figured he'd better keep his mouth shut. Something told him that Marc would have taken great delight in dragging him from the car and beating the crap out of him and that, this time, MacLeod might just let him.

He wished belatedly that he and Tessa-Marie had come up with some plausible story regarding their whereabouts during the night-after all, anything would be better than the truth. He quashed that idea as soon as it occurred to him. He'd never tried to lie his way out of trouble with Mac and Tessa before, and he sure wasn't going to start now.

Once they pulled into the drive and drew up to the front entrance, there wasn't time to think of anything but the fast-approaching confrontation. The foursome had barely set foot in the house before Elise and Tessa descended on them. After repeated assurances that Tessa-Marie and Richie were fine, Duncan swiftly ushered everyone into the living room and took up a post by the fireplace to watch the proceedings. 

Richie was good at thinking on his feet, but the Scot got the distinct impression that this would not be the boy's finest hour. Duncan caught sight of Henri at the back of the room, and wondered what Tessa's father thought of their little melodrama.

"Where have you two been?"

This from Elise who seemed caught between wanting to hug her daughter and shake her till her teeth rattled.

"We're sorry, maman, we didn't mean to worry you," Tessa-Marie replied nervously, with an eye on her father.

"That is not what your mother asked you." Marc's irritation rolled off him in waves.

She looked to Richie, but her co-conspirator merely shrugged in apparent defeat. "We...we were at Gaston's," she confessed, hesitantly.

"What?!" Tessa and Elise shouted in unison, each focused on a different teenager.

Tessa-Marie quickly backed up to stand beside Richie once more and nervously reached for his hand which she gratefully grasped as the two faced the angry adults together.

"Duncan and I specifically told you to stay away from there!" Tessa continued, standing with hands on hips. "It's not safe, anything could have happened to you and we never would have known!"

"Aw, come on, Tessa, nothing happened. We're fine, see?" Richie tried. "I kept my eyes open for trouble. If I saw anything go down, I would have gotten Tessa-Marie out of there." He was dancing around the truth so much he was in danger of tripping over his own feet. 

"And who would have gotten *you* out of there?" she demanded, heatedly. "My God, Richie, you're only eighteen. Do you know what could have happened to you if some low-life had decided to add you to his...his...."

"Stable?" Richie offered, then wished he'd kept his mouth shut when all eyes swung in his direction. MacLeod was shaking his head in a silent plea for Richie to show some common sense for once and keep quiet, although he didn't look much happier with him than Tessa at the moment.

"Tessa-Marie, how could you," Elise asked. She sounded mortified by the very idea of her innocent daughter in a place like that. "You've heard your father and me speak of that area before and you know how dangerous it is."

"Enough!" Marc thundered. "You've worried us all to death. Your mother and aunt haven't slept because of your thoughtless disobedience. The gendarmes were called last night, did you know that! Did either of you stop to consider that we might have wondered what had happened to you, or think to stop and pick up a phone?! No!" he shouted, answering his own question.

"It was my fault, okay," Richie said, sidestepping to shield Tessa-Marie from the brunt of her father's anger. "She didn't know where we were going until we got there, and I was going to call but I forgot," he continued in a rush.

Duncan snorted at that, but otherwise remained silent. Richie had no doubt that he'd get it with both barrels later, but MacLeod wasn't one to cause a scene in front of other people, even if they were family, of a sort.

"Is this true, Tessa-Marie?" Marc asked, his voice deathly calm now.

Richie glanced sideways at her and squeezed the hand in his, but the frightened teen continued to look up at her father, unwilling, or unable to break his gaze.

"No, Papa," she admitted, and Richie groaned loud enough for everyone to hear.

"I see," Marc said, transferring his gaze to the boy, who shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. "Then it seems we can add lying to the list."

Richie gave a rather sick imitation of a smile at this, but his mouth dropped open at the man's next words.

"What these two need is a good thrashing." 

Richie temporarily lost his voice, but no one else seemed to be suffering from the same affliction.

"Marc, no!" Elise said, grabbing her husband's arm. "Wait just a minute..." Duncan began, pushing away from the fireplace. "But we should give them a chance to..." Tessa added.

"If everyone is quite finished......." The words weren't shouted, but silence fell over the group as all eyes swung to Henri, whose presence had been all but forgotten during the interrogation.

He stepped forward to regard the room at large before settling upon the youngest members. "The children and I are going to discuss their behavior...in private," he added as Marc started to protest.

Tessa didn't seem happy with the situation either, but held her tongue as her father turned and headed for his library after giving the errant teens a long look. 

Richie cast Duncan an uncertain glance, and after receiving an inclination of the head in response, followed along in Henri's wake.

Henri guided the unhappy duo to his private study, normally off-limits to family members, and stood by the oversized mahogany doors as they filed past him, closing the doors behind them with an unsettling thud.

The old gentlemen slowly walked around to stand in front of the desk and regarded them solemnly, with hands clasped behind his back for several minutes.

Richie took advantage of the silence to take in as many details of the spacious room as he could-from the dark wood floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, to the well-worn leather chair sitting behind a desk that would have filled his room back home. Like the rest of the house, the room had a warm lived-in feeling that was oddly comforting to the former street-kid, even under the present circumstances.

When Richie's attention finally refocused on the tall man standing in front of him, he was chagrined to find Henri looking directly at him. He fidgeted uncomfortably, wondering what Tessa's father thought of the open appraisal of his home.

'Probably thinks I'm casing the place,' he thought, and tried to ignore the empty feeling that settled in the pit of his stomach at the possibility.

In fact, the Noel family patriarch had been surreptitiously observing young Richie Ryan since he had arrived with his daughter and Duncan, and was impressed with the boy on several levels.

Young Master Ryan was bright, articulate when he chose to be, and had a sense of humor that even threatened to infect the very composed Marc once or twice during dinner. His loyalty to, and affection for, both Tessa and Duncan was quite obvious, as were his feelings of discomfort with the rich surroundings. Henri also considered Richie's willingness to protect Tessa-Marie from her father's wrath, even to his own personal detriment, a sign of good character. A trait he would not have expected from a boy with a somewhat checkered past.

"Now then, suppose you two tell me why you went to Gaston's last night."

"Well?" Henri prompted, after a moment of continued silence.

"We... we just wanted to check it out." Richie began badly.

"Check it out?" Henri repeated, confused by the American slang.

"Yeah, you know, see what all the hoo-hah was about."

"Hoo hah?" Henri said, rubbing a hand over his eyes wearily. He felt as if he were rapidly losing control of the situation.

"I see," he continued, although he wasn't sure he did. "And you never once thought about the trouble your decision might cause, never thought to call us and relieve our minds."

Tessa-Marie sniffled quietly in the face of her grandfather's disapproval while Richie tried, and failed, to meet the older man's eyes.

"You weren't supposed to miss us." Richie knew it was a lame excuse; it also happened to be the truth. "I guess we didn't think," he admitted, reluctantly.

"No, you didn't," Henri stated plainly. "Were you both aware of the dangers of the area you found yourselves in?"

"Yes, sir," they answered together.

"Well, sort of," Richie added. 

Henri nodded thoughtfully. "And you had both been told not to go there." This was not a question.

Tessa-Marie sniffled again, louder this time.

"Well, it would seem that Marc has a valid point. However," he added with hand raised as he noted the rebellious set to Richie's jaw, "I think perhaps, in his anger, he has failed to consider your advanced ages." This last was said with a good deal of humor, which was, he realized belatedly, lost on the adolescents.

Henri noted that fact before continuing. "I believe another form of punishment will be much more effective."

"Wait a minute," Richie said, nervously, "I'm eighteen. I don't get *punished* anymore. Besides," he continued in a rush, "we're not even related. You can't just.....I mean..."

Henri smiled reassuringly as the boy struggled to find the right words. "It's true that you and I are not related by blood. However, my daughter cares for you a great deal, as does Duncan. That was quite apparent from their distress when you were missing last night." 

Richie had the good grace to flush guiltily at that.

"They have accepted you into their home and family," he continued. "I can do no less." Henri came to stand directly in front of the him. "And, as a member of this family, you will be treated no differently than my other grandchildren," he told the boy, his tone firm. He maintained eye contact with Richie throughout and watched as he blinked several times as if shocked by this astounding, and unexpected, revelation.

'A member of this family.' Richie replayed the phrase in his mind and felt his face flush again, for a very different reason this time.

"But you can't," Richie repeated, no longer sure if this was an argument he wanted to win. He looked over to Tessa-Marie for support, but she had her eyes glued to the floor and was attempting to ignore the conversation completely.

"Look, let Tessa and Mac punish me," he suggested, knowing full well that the most he'd receive from his friends was a tedious lecture on 'taking unnecessary risks'.

Henri knew it too, but was impressed just the same by the way the boy's mind worked.

"I am the head of this family. It is, therefore, my responsibility to correct your behavior. Tessa-Marie knows this." Another sniffle from her direction nearly motivated Richie to give her a swift kick. For someone who had been so vocal about tagging along in the first place, she sure closed up tighter than a clam when the shit hit the fan.

Oblivious to Richie's scowl, Henri nodded, deep in thought. "Since a thrashing, although well deserved is, I believe, inappropriate in this instance...." there was an audible sigh from his grand-daughter....."I suppose I will have to restrict your activities instead."

"Restrict our activities?" Richie repeated. "You mean, ground us?"

"Yes, I believe that is the American equivalent," Henri said. "So," he continued, "for the remainder of your stay, you will both be restricted to your rooms."

"A month?!" Richie exclaimed, no longer feeling relieved. "Grounded for a month!"

"I believe it is closer to twenty-six days, but a month is accurate enough," Henri replied, coolly.

Richie wasn't happy with the turn of events at all. Grounded on the barge was one thing—Mac and Tessa would never enforce it, not for long anyway. Grounded on the Noel estate, that was something else. He somehow doubted he'd get away with much, what with Henri, Marc, Elise and the servants all keeping an eye on him, and he knew he'd never be able to take a month-okay twenty-six days-of enforced confinement. Come on, these people didn't even have TVs in their rooms. So much for being rich. Of course, Marc's alternative wasn't very appealing either.

'Face it, Ryan,' he said to himself, 'this is a lose-lose situation.'

****************

"This really bites, Mac," Richie groused an hour later, as he paced from one end of his bedroom to the other, trying to work off some of his righteous indignation. After a half dozen circuits of the room, he finally stopped and faced the Highlander.

"I'm eighteen."

"I know."

"Yeah, well I haven't been grounded since...since..."

"Since you were seventeen?" Duncan finished, straight-faced.

That earned him a dark look. "Yeah, well, I didn't have much choice then...I do now."

"Oh?" MacLeod watched him expectantly.

"Yeah, I mean I could...um...I could go back to Paris," he remarked, as if the thought hadn't just occurred to him.

"Yeah," MacLeod nodded, as if in agreement.

"Yeah," Richie repeated with more confidence, as he crossed to the armoire and pulled out his suitcase. "I've got a few francs saved up," he continued, thinking out loud, "I could hitchhike as far as the city and get a taxi from there." He started haphazardly transferring his clothes from the dresser to the bed.

"Don't worry about hitching, Richie. I'll give you enough to get you from here to the barge in a taxi."

Richie looked up from his packing at that. "You'd loan me the money? Why?"

"Richie, do you have any idea how much trouble you could get into between here and Paris?" He shuddered visibly. "The mind boggles."

"Thanks," Richie laughed, "I think." He went to the armoire and studied the contents before pulling out a freshly ironed dark blue suit, complete with charcoal grey vest.

"Isn't that new?" Duncan asked.

"Yeah, Tessa wanted me to make a good impression on her family." He stared at the suit and a myriad of emotions crossed his face. He finally sighed heavily and placed it back on the rack.

"I can't go," he muttered, looking thoroughly dejected. "I mean, they're Tessa's family, right? Running out on them would be like running out on her."

Duncan smiled inwardly, but said nothing as Richie threw his suitcase back into the armoire, leaning against the closed door as one corner of his mouth lifted in a lop-sided grin.

"Besides, Tessa would have my head if I left her holding the bag like that."

MacLeod winced at his choice of words, but silently agreed with his reasoning. "Well, I guess you'll just have to tough it out."

"Yeah," Richie agreed, and tilted his head to the side, looking at the Scot suspiciously. "You knew I'd stay, didn't you?"

"I knew you'd make the right decision."

Richie snorted at that. "Since when, Mac?"

"Richie you always make the right decision when someone else's well-being is involved. It's your own safety you don't seem to give a thought to."

"Oh, man, I feel a lecture coming on."

Duncan smiled slightly at that. "You know, for a smart guy you sure do pull a lot of pretty stupid stunts." He caught the younger man's eyes and held them.

It was Richie who finally broke eye contact, under the pretense of throwing his clothes back into the dresser. "I'm sorry you guys were worried about Tessa-Marie. I should have made her stay here," he confessed.

"I'm glad you feel that way, Richie, and I'm sure her parents would like to hear it but..."

"Yeah, they were pretty extreme back there. Did you get a load of TM's dad...I mean, is he for real?"

"Nice try, Richie, but we're talking about you," MacLeod told him, trying not to smile at his obvious attempts at evading the real issue.

Richie slowly blew the air out of his mouth and dropped into a chair by the window with a defeatist attitude. "Look, Mac...."

"No, you look," Duncan said, fixing him with an icy stare, "when Tessa and I warned you about Gaston's and told you to stay far away from the place...which word didn't you understand?"

"Nothing happened," Richie offered, his hands outstretched in a placating gesture.

Duncan's eyebrows rose and he stared pointedly at Richie's swollen lip.

Richie sucked his lower lip into his mouth, wincing as the movement reopened the cut. "Okay, *something* happened...but I handled it," he quickly added.

"It looks like *it* handled you."

"It was kind of a mutual thing," Richie retorted flippantly, with a cocky grin plastered on his face.

MacLeod dropped his head into his hands, thoroughly exasperated.

"You worry too much, Mac."

Duncan raised his head and contemplated his young friend. "Richie, with you I don't think that's possible. So...how was the show in Pontoise?" he asked, giving the teen a piercing stare.

Richie blushed, obviously ashamed of the deception. "We said there was a show in town, we didn't say we were going to it." 

"That's walking a pretty thin line, Rich."

"Yeah, I guess," he conceded, studying his feet. "Tessa's pretty mad, huh?"

"I think it's safe to say you're not on her 'top ten' list at the moment. Give her a little time, Richie, she was pretty worried last night."

He merely nodded at that. "I *am* sorry I took Tessa-Marie along," he said, ruefully. "I wasn't going to."

MacLeod nodded. "Then why did you?"

Richie opened his mouth to give a resourceful and thought-provoking answer, then abruptly closed it again. "I caved, okay?" he admitted, and made a disgusted face when Duncan seemed amused by his admission. "You try to be tough with someone when they look up at you with these big, blue eyes."

Duncan's mouth twitched despite his best efforts. "I'll try," he promised, ruffling Richie's hair as the kid tried to duck away from the now familiar gesture.

****************

After missing most of a night's sleep, the household retired to their rooms for the better part of the morning. Sometime after eleven Duncan and Tessa finally wandered downstairs. The sound of raised voices drew the couple to the salon, where they walked in on an argument between their hosts.

"Are we interrupting something?" Duncan asked, when dead silence followed their arrival.

Elise grasped her husband's arm. "Marc, please let it go."

"We were just discussing last night's debacle," Marc told them, ignoring his wife's pleas.

"Marc, he is a nice boy," Elise stated, apparently continuing an earlier argument.

MacLeod had seen this coming. "You're talking about Richie."

Marc gave a tight smile in answer. "I find it interesting that Tessa-Marie has been deceitful on only two occasions-once in Seacouver, and once here-and that young man was present both times."

"Just exactly what are you implying?" Tessa demanded, heatedly.

"Tessa-Marie is not blameless, of course, but when you expose an innocent child to that kind of influence you must expect problems."

"That kind of influence?" Duncan repeated, clamping down on his brogue.

"The boy is quite resourceful. According to my mechanic, the Aston's ignition had been bypassed. 'Hot-wired', I believe it is called. I doubt that is a skill Tessa-Marie learned in ballet class," Marc proclaimed, contemptuously.

"By resourceful, you mean deceitful." Duncan felt an almost overwhelming urge to wipe the smug expression off the other man's face. "Richie doesn't make a habit of lying," he stated, "not to us."

"You don't know what a boy like that is capable of," Marc continued, with obvious disdain.

"What do you mean 'a boy like that'?" Tessa asked, her voice rising. "I'll have you know, Richie is one of the finest people I know. He may be headstrong, and he certainly shows poor judgment at times, but I would trust him with my life...and have, more than once."

"Of course I don't blame either of you," Marc continued, as if she had never spoken. "Trying to reform a young criminal is an admirable endeavor, but you must accept that your efforts may not be successful." Seeing that his guests meant to argue further, he smiled condescendingly. "Forgive me Tessa, Duncan, but it is obvious we do not agree on this, and unfortunately I am already behind on my work. If you will excuse me," he said somewhat formally, leaving a livid Tessa with no target for her anger.

"I'm sorry," Elise murmured, looking from her sister to Duncan.

"*You* have nothing to apologize for," Tessa spat out, more harshly than she'd intended, and regretted it immediately. As Elise moved past her, she reached out to touch her arm, gently. The sisters looked at each other a moment, then smiled knowingly. Elise kissed her sibling on the cheek and left her and Duncan alone.

Tessa started pacing immediately, gesturing to no one and speaking French so rapidly that Duncan could barely keep up with her. She switched back to English at the end of her diatribe.

"He's an arrogant, self-satisfied, overbearing..."

"Snob," Duncan offered.

"Thank you...snob."

"He always was, Tessa," Duncan offered, rationally, "but I don't remember him being this unreasonable."

"He has always been overprotective of Tessa-Marie, and Elise told me he has had some financial reversals lately, but that is no excuse for attacking an innocent boy."

Duncan's eyebrows arched clear to his hairline at that. "Innocent? Richie? Tessa..."

"You know what I mean," she said, glowering at him. "Richie is hardly the villain Marc would paint him. And if I know my niece, I would guess this was as much her doing as his."

"Probably," MacLeod agreed, nodding. "Look, Tessa, we both know that Richie isn't as bad as Marc thinks, and he isn't an angel, either; he falls somewhere in between." 

"If it weren't for the exhibit, I would take Richie back to Paris," Tessa announced, still fuming.

"But you can't leave, so we'll stick it out-all of us," Duncan said, reasonably. "Besides it won't hurt Richie to have to deal with the consequences of his little adventure." A smile slowly lit his face. "At least we won't have to worry what he's up to for the next few weeks. He can't get into too much trouble in his room."

Tessa grudgingly smiled in response. "It will be poetic justice. Let him worry about what we are doing for awhile."

"So, are you back to being mad at him?"

"I never *stopped* being mad at him," she admitted. "That doesn't mean I won't defend him when he is unjustly accused of something. Besides, *we* are allowed to yell at him, he's ours." She colored slightly when she realized how that sounded. "Oh, you know what I mean."

"I know exactly what you mean," he told her, kissing her cheek and sliding an arm around her waist. "I don't know about you, but I'd like to concentrate on something other than Richie for awhile," he said, nuzzling her neck. "Let's go upstairs."

"Duncan, we only just got out of bed." She was trying to ignore him, without success.

"Do you have any better ideas?"

"Mmmm, well I suppose no one will miss us for an hour," she murmured, returning his embrace. Hand-in-hand they nearly ran for the stairs.

**********

While Tessa and Duncan had found a means of working off their frustration, Richie and Tessa-Marie were each stuck in solitary, with no outlet for theirs. They hadn't had the opportunity to talk since Marc and Duncan found them, and Tessa-Marie was anxious to speak with her friend. Her parents were downstairs, and she thought she had heard Tessa and Duncan headed for their room. She finally decided to throw caution to the winds and tiptoed to his room. She found Richie sitting cross-legged on the bed, one elbow cocked on his knee, with his chin resting on his open hand, frowning at the far wall.

"How are you doing?" she asked, tentatively, sitting down beside him.

"How do you think?" he replied, his tone gruff.

"Do not snap at me. It was your idea to go to Gaston's."

"Right, and who insisted on tagging along?"

"Tagging along! You couldn't have gone yourself without my help," Tessa-Marie shot back vehemently. "You are the one without a driver's license."

"Yeah, well, it didn't stop me from driving back, did it?"

"We are just lucky the gendarmes did not stop us."

Richie didn't have a quick come-back for that. He settled for changing streams. "How come you didn't argue like this when your grandfather was giving us hell?"

"That would have been foolish," she sniffed.

"Foolish? Foolish! Oh, and I suppose 'borrowing' your dad's car and going to a dive like Gaston's wasn't foolish?" Richie retorted. 

Tessa-Marie looked at him in bewilderment.

"Okay, that didn't come out right," he admitted, grudgingly.

The teens regarded each other warily for a split-second, then erupted in laughter.

"Truce?" Richie offered, holding out his hand.

"Truce?" Tessa-Marie repeated, unsure of the term.

"Yeah, it means a...a declaration of peace."

"Ah...truce," she affirmed, shaking his hand firmly.

He grinned at her, ruefully. "Good, I've got enough people mad at me."

The sound of the bedroom door suddenly striking the wall pulled both teenagers' attention to it, and to the figure standing rigidly in the doorway.

Marc's gaze barely touched on Richie before settling on his daughter.

"Tessa-Marie, when your grand-pere confined you to your room, it was to *your* room, not his."

The girl cast Richie a furtive glance and scuttled past her father into the hall. With one last derisive scowl, Marc followed.

No sooner had Marc vacated the doorway, then MacLeod appeared. "How you doing?" He came in and settled on the arm of one of the chairs across from the bed.

"Okay," the teen replied, in a voice devoid of his usual enthusiasm. "He doesn't like me much, does he?" There was no need to ask to whom he was referring. "Not that I can blame him." Richie was making a strong attempt to hide his bitterness, and MacLeod wondered just how much of the earlier conversation downstairs the kid had overheard.

"He's an ass," Duncan growled.

Richie burst out laughing at that, he couldn't help it, and the chagrined look on Mac's face didn't help one bit. By the time he'd finally pulled himself together, he was sitting on the floor with tears running down his face and hiccuping in an attempt to catch his breath.

"Thanks, Mac, I needed that," he said, running a sleeve across his eyes.

"I guess I needed it, too," Duncan admitted, grinning. "You haven't laughed much the last couple of days, Rich."

The boy climbed back up on the bed and shrugged. "Guess not." He seemed disinclined to pursue the subject, and MacLeod knew better than to try to draw him out. Richie could talk a person's ears off when the topic of conversation was something he found interesting, but delve into his past, or hit too close to a nerve, and the kid clammed up so tight one could barely get two words out of him.

"So, what do you think of Henri?" Duncan asked, on a different note.

"Who, GP? He's a good guy."

"GP? General Practitioner?" Duncan questioned, looking puzzled.

"No, it's short for grand-pere. He told me to call him that, but it felt funny, you know?" Richie explained, with his usual complicated rationale.

"Uh, huh. And what did he think of the nickname?"

"At first he got this funny look on his face, like he was gonna be sick, or something. I figured maybe he was thinking that Marc was right all along, and somebody oughta whip my butt. The guy's huge, it case you haven't noticed, Mac," Richie informed the bemused Scot, "so I was getting ready to beat-feet it out of there. But then he kind of chuckled and said he liked it, that it showed I could disassociate associations."

"That sounds like him."

"Yeah. It had me worried for a little while, but then I looked it up and it wasn't so bad."

Duncan was putting great effort into keeping a straight face, and failing miserably. He couldn't remember laughing quite as much before Richie came into his life. Of course, he couldn't remember yelling as much, either.

"Well," Mac said, climbing to his feet, "I told Marc I'd look at a new acquisition he made, but I'll be back in a few hours. Try to stay out of trouble until then."

"Sure, Mac, no problem. Uh, Mac?"

"Yeah?"

"There was this...uh, little fire at Gaston's. Could you find out if anybody was hurt?" Richie refused to meet Duncan's eyes throughout this request.

The older man gave him a long look before nodding and leaving him to his own diversions.

Richie couldn't remember an afternoon ever dragging by this slowly. He made his bed, then messed it up just so he could make it again. He paced, he whistled, he tried to walk around the room on his hands-and fell flat on his face. He took one of the embroidered pillows off the window seat and tossed it around, lobbing it off the walls and ceiling until he caught sight of Elise standing in the bedroom doorway with hands on hips. "It's a throw pillow," he explained, giving her his wide-eyed innocent look. It didn't work on her any better than it did on Tessa, and he hastily set the decorative pillow back on the seat, plumping it with more force than was necessary.

Elise gave him one last stern look and pulled the door partially closed.

Richie tried leafing through a motorcycle magazine he'd picked up in Paris, but gave up trying to translate it after a few paragraphs and threw it aside. He finally admitted defeat and flopped down on the floor with a frustrated sigh.

Sitting on the floor, feeling very sorry for himself, he failed to notice the door opening, and didn't hear the feet padding across the carpeted room. His first indication that he wasn't alone was a sloppy kiss on the back of his neck.

"What the....!" He swung around to find what appeared to be a very large dog regarding him with its tongue lolling from its mouth.

"Agh, dog drool!" he moaned, wiping off the back of his neck. "What do you want?" he asked, glaring at the large animal accusingly.

The dog almost seemed to smile before nonchalantly snatching up a nearby sneaker and racing from the room.

"Hey!" Richie shouted, jumping to his feet. "Come back here!" 

He caught a flash of brown heading towards the stairs as he hit the hall, and followed in hot pursuit. Richie got to the head of the stairwell as the dog galloped across the foyer, and started bounding down the stairs after it. "Stop thief!" he shouted, taking the stairs two at a time. He hit the foyer at a dead run, noticing a second too late its high luster.

Richie's feet flew out from under him as he hit the highly polished floor and he slid the remaining ten feet to the opposite wall, striking a pedestal holding a 16th century vase with enough force to make it sway precariously. He closed his eyes as the vase lost its fight with gravity and started a slow motion descent. When no crash followed, he warily opened one eye to find MacLeod cradling the vase to his chest and regarding him with a definite glower.

"I thought you were supposed to stay in your room," the Scot remarked, with mock irritation.

"It's not my fault, a dog stole my sneaker," Richie complained, sitting up and wincing. 

"What dog?" MacLeod asked skeptically, looking around the empty foyer.

"There was a dog. It was big, humongous...maybe it was a horse," he said, impulsively.

"A horse stole your sneaker?" Duncan repeated, with eyebrow raised.

"Okay, so maybe it *was* a dog," Richie admitted with a shrug of the shoulders.

The Mastiff chose that moment to peek around the open front door, his treasure dangling from his mouth looking none the worse for wear.

"Hey, you, drop it!" Richie shouted.

The canine cocked his head to the side, then released the sneaker.

"That was easy," Duncan commented, dryly.

"Too easy, he's up to something," Richie stated, suspiciously. "Okay, buddy," he said, addressing the dog, "you always go around taking stuff that doesn't belong to you?"

A deep and very loud bark was his answer.

"Okay, okay, I was just asking," Richie said, with hands up.

The animal seemed to consider him for a moment before trotting over and licking his face with great enthusiasm.

"Oh, maaaan," Richie muttered in disgust.

"I think he likes you," Duncan said with a chuckle.

"Fantastic," the boy replied, sarcastically.

"Oh, I see you've met Napoleon." Duncan turned to find Henri watching them from the doorway of his study.

"Napoleon? The *little* general?" Duncan commented, eyeing the 120 pound canine.

"Yes, well, Tessa-Marie named him when he was a puppy," he explained, with a small smile. "More or less has the run of the place, don't you, my friend?" he said, as he walked over to pat the dog's head. "Sometimes disappears for days at a time." He looked back at Duncan. "You're admiring the Dresden vase, I see."

"Uh, yes," Duncan grunted, actually looking at the vase he held for the first time. "It's in excellent condition."

"Yes, Marc is very proud of it." Henri took the vase from Duncan and set it back on the stand. "Come, let me show you some of his other acquisitions." He raised an eyebrow at Richie, who was still sitting shoeless on the floor. "Young man, is there not some place you are supposed to be?"

"Uh, yeah. I was just about to go back to my room," Richie replied, with a small resigned smile. He retrieved his sneaker and started the trip upstairs at a much more sedate pace than when he came down.

Napoleon trotted happily along behind until Henri called him back.

*******

For the next two days, Richie and Tessa-Marie only left their rooms for meals, or when nature called. When Duncan commented that nature seemed to be calling on Richie a lot more than usual, and perhaps he needed to see a doctor, Richie's trips down the hall decreased significantly.

The teens had started occasionally sneaking into each other's rooms for brief periods of time to talk. Tessa and Elise were both aware of this, but feigned ignorance. Late in the second day of captivity, Tessa-Marie dropped in on Richie only to find her friend sitting on the window seat, staring out at the back yard. She sat beside him for several minutes before he even acknowledged her presence.

"What's wrong, Richie?" Tessa-Marie asked, leaning toward him. "You're not still upset about the fire? Duncan told you no one was injured."

"No. It's nothing," he told her cryptically, trying to shrug off her obvious concern.

Tessa-Marie was not so easily dismissed. Much like her aunt, she simply dug in her heels and studied his profile until he tired of the scrutiny.

Richie turned from his perusal of the back yard to give her a tight smile. "It's no big deal. One of my foster mothers used to lock me in a closet when I was bad." He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "I guess you could say I spent a lot of time in there." Richie looked around the spacious bedroom. "This isn't anything like that, you know, but for some reason it sort of feels the same."

"I'm sorry, Richie," Tessa-Marie murmured, taking his hand consolingly.

"Hey," Richie uttered, shrugging off the memory with a misleading grin, "it was a long time ago. Like I said, no big deal." He turned back to stare out of the window again, his face telling a very different story.

Standing in the hallway just outside Richie's room, Tessa pushed away from the wall and turned blindly, her face pale. She took two hesitant steps before running into an immovable object with a startled gasp. Arms came around to comfort her and she looked up into the troubled eyes of her father. He placed a finger to his lips before leading her silently away from Richie's doorway to the upstairs sitting room. He saw her safely ensconced in a plush settee before placing a decanter of brandy in her hands and moving to the French doors to contemplate the same landscape as a certain young American.

"I've been giving some thought to my decision of confining Richard and Tessa-Marie to their rooms, and have decided that, perhaps, I was a little hasty," he said, with an authoritative air that didn't fool Tessa in the least. "Young people need exercise and an outlet for their remarkable energies. Pierre has been complaining that he has not enough help to keep the grounds in the proper shape. I believe I will have Richard spend a few hours each day assisting him in his work. Nothing he cannot handle, of course. Tessa-Marie can help her mother around the house and gardens," he added, as an apparent afterthought.

Tessa rose and went to her father, smiling up at him warmly.

"Thank you, Papa," she said, and kissed his cheek.

"Yes, well," he murmured, clearing his throat, "why don't we have Richard start right away."

"Yes, why don't we." She linked her arm through his and together they headed back down the hall.

*********

Richie's first assigned chore was cutting the massive front lawn with the riding mower. Unfortunately, he was less concerned with cutting the grass, and more interested in seeing how fast he could take corners without overturning the mower. When his racing skills threatened to take out Elise's prized perennials, Pierre lectured him on the subject of tools not being toys, and reassigned him to raking, while he, himself, trimmed the nearby topiary bushes.

When one of the taller branches remained stubbornly out of reach, the small Frenchman muttered something uncomplimentary under his breath and turned to his young helper. "I must get a, how you say...ladder. Finish what you are doing and do not touch anything, comprendez-vous?"

"Yeah, sure, no problem,” Richie replied, obediently.

Pierre was barely out of sight before the lure of the shears became too much for the teenager. He hefted the almost two feet of stainless steel, getting a feel for the weight. "Now this is more like it."

"En guarde!" Richie challenged, striking a pose and threatening a bear-shaped topiary. "What was that?" he asked menacingly, as he approached the bush. "Are you talking to me? Are *you* talking to *me*?" He wielded the shears with a two-handed swing, stepping into the lunge. Inexperienced as he was handling a sword, or shears in this case, he misjudged the distance between himself and the bush by a good eight inches, and cleanly lopped off the bear's head.

"Um....."

Richie cast nervous glances around to see if anyone had observed his little mishap, then quickly snatched up the leafy head and cradled it to his chest. "Oh, man, Mac's gonna kill me," he muttered, looking around again. "Or Tessa...no Henri, Henri's really gonna kill me. And Marc will help, oh yeah, this'll just make *his* day."

He suddenly had an inspiration, and reached up to place the head back on the green body. Other than the fact that the head was facing the tail, it wasn't too bad. Richie quickly rotated the head around to face front and fluffed up the surrounding branches to cover the break, checking it from several different angles until he was satisfied.

"Okay, I'm cool," he said, trying to convince himself, and taking a calming breath as he strutted back to the lawn tools or, as he would think of them now, the implements of destruction.

For the remainder of the afternoon, he showed the tools a great deal of respect, earning Pierre's grudging approval for all the wrong reasons.

At dinner that night, Richie regaled everyone with tales of his exploits in yard care-skipping the shears mishap-and with impressions of Pierre.

"There he was, shaking a handful of fertilizer at me, his face beet red, 'eet iz not discusteeng, eet iz ze fragrance of life'," he mimicked. "Kind of gives new meaning to the phrase 'life stinks.'"

"Richie!" Tessa admonished, considering fertilizer an inappropriate topic for the dinner table.

Henri's booming laughter interrupted her. "Life stinks," he roared, startling his companions.

Henri's display of humor appeared to be a cue for the rest of the assembly. Tessa-Marie giggled into her napkin, while Elise's lilting laughter provided a sharp contrast to her father's deeper tones. Duncan even thought he saw Marc's mouth twitch.

"I hope I am not interrupting."

Elise and her daughter sobered immediately as they turned toward the man standing in the doorway. Henri pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dried his eyes as he fought to compose himself.

Marc rose and motioned their visitor into the room. "Ah, Charles, come in. Duncan, Tessa, this is Charles Bonner, my financial advisor and accountant."

Duncan got to his feet and shook Bonner's hand as Tessa inclined her head in greeting.

"A pleasure," Bonner murmured, smiling broadly, displaying a mouthful of blindingly white teeth. "Monsieur Charbonnier tells me you are quite the authority on antiquities," he said, addressing MacLeod.

"I know a little something about them," he replied modestly, and heard Richie snort loudly behind him. "We have a small shop in the states."

"Perhaps you would give me your opinion of a piece I am trying to acquire if the opportunity arises."

"I'd be happy to."

"Bon." Charles turned toward Marc. "I have the papers you requested, but if this is not a good time..."

"No, no, now is perfect. If everyone will excuse me." Marc followed the still smiling Bonner out. 

Richie found himself watching the two men as they left the room. There was something about the accountant that felt 'off' to the former thief, something almost familiar. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but the impression lingered.

After dinner, Richie agreed to help Tessa-Marie finish one of her assigned chores-dusting the stairwell and upstairs hallway-a fact that surprised Tessa since he always went out of his way to avoid that particular job at home.

"How come you didn't do this earlier?" he asked the girl as he polished the upper banister.

"Cook was making chocolate mousse and I offered to help."

"Uh, huh, for purely unselfish reasons, right?"

"Well....I do love her chocolate mousse."

Richie laughed and turned back to his labors as the door to the library opened below. As Richie watched, the accountant left the library and entered the salon.

"Guy kind of has the run of the place, doesn't he?" Richie remarked.

"Who?" Tessa-Marie asked, looking up from her labors.

"The guy with the big teeth, Bonnie, or something."

"Ah," she said, smiling at his unusual description. "Yes, Papa trusts Monsieur Bonner implicitly."

"He does, huh?"

"Oh, yes. Why?"

Richie shrugged his shoulders. "No reason."

Tessa-Marie seemed to accept that and returned to her dusting. She didn't notice Richie's continued surveillance of the other man, nor the intense look on his face.

Even after turning in for the night, Richie couldn't get past his uneasiness regarding Bonner. He'd been pacing around the perimeter of his room since turning in for the night, trying to put his finger on just what bothered him about the guy. Okay, the phony smile was pretty sickening, but it wasn't that.

His stomach growled suddenly, interrupting his musings and his thoughts drifted to the turkey they had dined on the night before. He certainly hadn't paced the floor after that meal, he'd slept like a baby. Never one to brush away thoughts of food, he set off for the kitchen.

He was halfway across the downstairs foyer before he noticed a light shining under the door to the library. It was after midnight and he sure hadn't expected to bump into anyone this late. He shrugged and turned toward the kitchen area but curiosity got the better of him and he found his feet heading for the room next to the library, Marc's study, which had an adjoining door. The study was empty and the door connecting the two rooms stood slightly ajar, spilling just enough light into the room for him to be able to maneuver around the furniture. An image flashed through his mind of Marc catching him sneaking around the house in the middle of the night and he nearly turned around before he heard a voice he didn't recognize coming from the other room.

He wedged himself into a space between a bookshelf and the door jam where he could see into the room through the gap. He didn't see anyone at first, and then a short, but powerfully built man came into view. Bonner's assistant, Andrew, or Andre-he couldn't remember which-whom he'd seen briefly earlier in the evening. He heard Bonner's voice then, just as cultured, but with a hard edge to it that sounded less practiced. Earlier in the evening Richie had heard Marc tell Bonner to lock up when he finished, but that was several hours ago.

The two men were speaking in French and, as Richie watched, Andre picked up a large bound book from the desk. Bonner came into Richie's line of vision then, snatching the book from his assistant's hands and opening it. He seated himself at the desk and wrote something, taking his time with the task, and Richie wondered what kind of bookkeeping had to be handled in the dead of night.

Bonner glanced up at one point and seemed to look right at him. Richie instinctively pulled back against the bookshelf and held his breath until the discussion in the other room resumed. Although, with his limited knowledge of French, Richie didn't understand all that was said, he could interpret enough of the conversation to suspect that Charles Bonner and his assistant weren't on the up and up. He understood the French words for 'steal' and 'money', and recognized the fact that they popped up in the same sentence with Marc's name more than once.

After what felt like an eternity of standing frozen and silent in one spot-two things Richie had never been very good at-the men appeared to conclude their business. They gathered up a few things, switched off the light and left the room.

Richie waited until he heard the front door open and close before leaving his hiding place. He flicked on the desk lamp and went directly to the large journal, flipping it to the last page.

"It's all Greek to me," he muttered, glancing down the column of figures and item descriptions.

"Actually, it's French."

Richie jumped at the unexpected interruption, dropping the ledger on the desk and stepping away from it hastily.

"Was there something you required?" Charles asked solicitously, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him.

"Uh, yeah, I was...looking for Mr. Noel," Richie replied, eyeing the closed portal, nervously.

"I see, and you thought to find him in the accounts book." His smile reminded Richie of something called a Cheshire cat from a children's story he read once. "It seems that my return was quite advantageous."

"Depends on your point of view, doesn't it?" Richie remarked, glibly.

Charles' smile widened at that. "Are Mademoiselle Noel and Monsieur MacLeod hiding underneath the desk, or should I seek them out elsewhere?"

"They don't know anything," Richie said, quickly, distressed at the thought of Tessa alone with this guy.

"As opposed to you," the man remarked. "I'm afraid you know much too much for your own good, my young friend."

"We're not friends." Richie knew he should be concentrating on getting himself out of this, but Bonner had a way of addressing the younger man that was disconcerting.

"No, I suppose we are not. How unfortunate that you let your curiosity get the better of you," he said, sounding genuinely remorseful, even as he began a slow advance toward the boy.

Absorbing both the man's words and actions, Richie smiled uneasily and started inching his way around the desk in the direction of the library door. "What if I give my word not to say anything?" he asked, stalling for time. "You know the old saying 'honor among thieves.'"

"If only it were that simple," Charles replied, his eyes shifting fractionally to a point behind the boy. "But, unfortunately, I do not trust you."

Richie didn't sense the movement in the library doorway, nor see the crystal bookend that descended toward the back of his head. His face registered a moment of pain just before he slumped to the floor at Andre's feet.

Charles' burly assistant knelt next to the boy to determine that he was indeed unconscious, checking for a pulse as an afterthought.

"A large lump on the head, no more," he informed the other man.

"This complicates matters somewhat. I cannot risk Monsieur Charbonnier becoming suspicious of my, shall we say, creative accounting." Bonner did not look pleased.

"You said he would never find the falsified entries."

"In the normal course of business, he would not. But if he knew exactly what to look for, it is possible."

"What about his friends?" Andre asked, indicating Richie, "do you think he was lying to protect them?"

"No, I do not think so. I cannot picture that MacLeod fellow letting the boy take this risk. Besides, if they suspected anything they would have simply called the police or had us discharged. No, I believe the boy spoke the truth when he said he acted alone."

"So, what do we do with him?"

Charles studied the unconscious teenager a moment. "That is the question, is it not? We cannot let him go, that much is obvious. But how to dispose of him without drawing attention to our activities?"

"He could have an accident," Andre offered, knowingly.

Charles smiled. "My thought exactly. Did not Monsieur Charbonnier say the boy had a somewhat unsavory past?" He received a nod in response. "Well then, we might draw the conclusion that drugs were a part of that past. After all, he *is* an American," he added, as if that explained it all.

"Watch him, and see that he does not move," Charles instructed. "I believe my nephew Michel can supply us with the necessary items to take care of our little problem," he explained, glancing down at Richie's still form. "Lock both doors, I will return shortly."

************

Richie opened his eyes slowly, fighting back a groan as he shifted on cold concrete. His head felt like it might explode at any moment, and considering the way the rest of him felt, that might not be such a bad thing.

"Ah, I see you are back among the living."

Richie rolled his head and blinked at the man standing over him. Charles Bonner smiled back at him.

"I had hoped to complete our business here before you awoke, but I suppose it cannot be helped," he said, ominously.

"Where are we?" Richie asked, sitting up and carefully rubbing the back of his head.

"The lower level of the house, in the freezer. We won't be disturbed here." The man seemed disgustingly blasé‚ about the entire thing.

Richie tried to flee, but his spinning head, in combination with the growing numbness in his arms and legs conspired to slow his movements drastically. He had barely gotten to his feet before two powerful arms yanked him back down to the cold floor.

Richie struggled to break the grip, only to have it tighten, uncomfortably restricting his breathing.

"There's no need for that," Charles commented. "As you can see, Andre is perfectly capable of subduing you satisfactorily."

"Now I know why I thought I knew you, I've seen a thousand guys just like you-small time con men looking for an easy score," Richie said derisively.

Bonner seemed unfazed by the comparison. "I assure you, I am *not*, as you say, 'small time.'" Charles knelt down beside him and it was only then that the boy saw the syringe in his gloved hand.

"Charbonnier will figure it out, you know. He'll realize where the money went," Richie tried, nervously. "Will you kill him, too?"

Charles seemed to find that amusing. "He has no head for business, that is why he has me. He should have remained in a field he understood more clearly, but Monsieur Charbonnier fancies himself a connoisseur." This was said with a good deal of contempt. "But I digress, and we are wasting time."

With that he took Richie's left arm in a firm hold and rolled up the shirt sleeve, turning the arm to expose the pale underside. "It is a shame to die so young but, ah, c'est la vie." Charles looked into the boy's eyes. "I do regret this."

"Save it for someone who cares," Richie growled, with forced bravado, though his rapid breathing betrayed him.

Charles acknowledged this statement with an inclination of his head. "Hold him, Andre, I would not wish to hurt him."

Richie struggled with renewed determination against the arms that held him, with no success, and stiffened as he felt the needle sink into the flesh of his arm.

"My apologies," Charles murmured, cupping the boy's face almost lovingly, before pushing the plunger home.

Richie cried out, as much from despair as the rough handling, and moaned as the hot liquid rush filled his veins. Terror drove reason before it into a place Richie had left far behind, and he fought in vain to hold onto the faces of his friends as reality shattered and left him all alone...in the dark.

Charles carefully placed the empty syringe in the boy's hand, folding his fingers around it. "There, that should satisfy the gendarmes curiosity. Between the injection and the cold I do not expect he will last the night, and by the time someone discovers his absence and thinks to look here, our young friend will be beyond help."

Charles and Andre quickly gathered any evidence of their presence and left the boy curled up on the floor in his own private hell. A scream ripped through the room, sounding more animal than human, and Charles hastily pushed the solid door closed, the bolt catching automatically.

***********

Tessa sat bolt upright in bed, gasping in large mouthfuls of air while trying to still her rapidly beating heart.

"What is it?" Duncan asked, retrieving his sword.

"Nothing," she whispered hoarsely, her hand to her mouth as if to fight back nausea. "Bad dream."

Duncan climbed back beside her and put his arm around her, rubbing her cold hands. "It's all right now," he murmured in her ear. "Try to go back to sleep. It'll be dawn in a few hours."

Tessa settled back into his arms and closed her eyes against the unsettling images that even now were fading from memory. She had nearly dropped off again when a bone-chilling howl made the hairs rise on the back of her neck. This time she wasn't the only one who broke out in a cold sweat.

"What was that?" she asked, uneasily.

"I'm not sure," Duncan admitted, maneuvering towards the door. Another howl rose, rising in volume and Tessa climbed out of bed and raced to his side.

"Is that Napoleon?"

Hands clasped, the pair made their way into the hall where they were quickly joined by a wide-eyed Tessa-Marie.

"Aunt Tessa?"

"Shhh, it's all right, mignon," she reassured the girl, releasing her hold on Duncan to drape an arm around her niece's petite shoulders.

"What's all this nonsense?" Marc growled, exiting his room in the process of tying the belt of his robe. Elise followed in his wake.

"Quiet, dear, you'll wake everyone," she whispered to her husband.

"I think it's a little late for that," Marc muttered, as he noticed the others. "Well, since everyone's up we might as well get to the bottom of this." He led off, moving towards the stairwell with Duncan close behind, the women bringing up the rear.

Another howl had Tessa-Marie latching onto her mother. "What's wrong with him?"

"I don't know, dear."

"Napoleon! Napoleon, to me!" Marc shouted, as they reached the foyer with no sign of the canine. "Where is he?" he asked no one in particular.

MacLeod cocked his head to the side and pointed to the entranceway on their right. "That way," he answered, and moved off, taking the lead.

They entered a part of the house near the servants quarters that Duncan had never been to before and rounded a corner to find the object of their search, looking expectantly at a closed door.

"Napoleon, you beastly dog. What are you doing?" Marc attempted to pull the animal away from the door with no success. Napoleon made a sound in his throat that wasn't exactly a growl, but it caused Marc to regard him with new respect.

"I'm surprised Richie could sleep through all this," Duncan heard Tessa comment behind him. "He's usually a light sleeper."

"Yes, he is," Duncan agreed, with a suddenly troubled expression.

"There you all are," Henri remarked, conversationally, as he joined the group. "I wondered where everyone had got to."

"Did you see Richie?" Duncan asked, betraying nothing.

"Isn't he with you? His bed was empty, as were yours."

Napoleon chose that auspicious moment to start scratching frantically at the door. Upon closer inspection it appeared he had been at it for some time, as there were several deep gouges in the wood.

"Napoleon, heel!" Henri said, in a commanding voice that made animals and children alike obey instantly. The dog did no more than glance in his direction before whining and renewing his digging.

"Most odd," Henri remarked.

"Maybe not," Duncan said cryptically. The Scot didn't explain as he grasped the handle and opened the door. Napoleon immediately bolted down the dark stairwell on the other side as Duncan searched for and found the light switch.

He spared the others a hasty glance before following the dog with a natural agility.

The rest of the group followed more slowly, and turned at the foot of the stairs to find both him and Napoleon standing before a solid metal door.

Napoleon's ears rose and he tilted his head from side to side before jumping up on the door and barking in a frantic bass, the sound rumbling up from his chest.

"What's in there?" Duncan questioned, as he pulled the dog to his side.

"Nothing," Marc replied, "the meat locker."

MacLeod looked at the door through narrowed eyes. A moment later both his and Napoleon's heads lifted fractionally and he reached out, slipping the bolt and taking the handle in both hands, and pulled it towards them. As soon as the seal was broken a wail reached their ears that dwarfed Napoleon's-this one a high tenor that increased in volume until it disintegrated into nothing.

Once more Duncan reached blindly for a switch and a single bulb flared into life. The Highlander blinked, tying to see into the farthest corners. Another cry sent him headlong into the locker, skirting a side of beef and sundry and he nearly stumbled over his objective.

Richie sat huddled on the floor, rocking back and forth with arms wrapped around his raised knees, talking quietly to himself in what sounded to Duncan like childish gibberish. He was shivering violently, but seemed oblivious to the presence of the man beside him.

"Richie?" MacLeod said, tentatively, kneeling down and placing a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Okay, okay," Richie chanted in a sing-song voice, as he continued the rocking motion. "It's gonna be okay, okay. She'll come back, she will, she will."

Elise quickly pulled Tessa-Marie away from the doorway and Duncan vaguely registered their withdrawal.

"Richie, can you hear me?" MacLeod tried, again. "Do you know where you are?" He tried to turn Richie toward him, but the boy resisted the move, moaning deep in his throat.

"Noooooo."

"He's on something," Marc stated, looking horrified at the scene before him.

"Not by choice," Tessa threw at him, her expression fierce.

"Pleaaase, please, no. I'll be good, I promise."

"Richie...Richie look at me," Mac ordered, not unkindly, grasping the boy's chin and raising his head.

"Please," Richie moaned, again, flinching away from the physical contact.

Mac placed a hand on either side of Richie's face and held on, forcing him to make eye contact. 

This time *the Highlander* flinched. The boy's eyes were wild and unfocused and his expression of complete terror distorted his normally open face into something feral. His skin was like ice and his breath misted the air with his rapid exhalations.

"I need blankets!" Duncan yelled over his shoulder and Tessa disappeared from view.

"Humor him," Henri advised from just inside the room. "He's in another place, Duncan...another time." His voice was kind.

Richie moaned again and tried to curl into a ball, but MacLeod's restraining arms wouldn't allow it. "I'll be good," the boy chanted. "Please."

"I know you will, Richie," Duncan told him in what he hoped was a reassuring tone of voice.

"P..please, she'll l..l..lock me in again," he moaned, shaking so violently it was all MacLeod could do to hold onto him.

"No, I won't let her, Richie. I swear, she won't hurt you anymore, do you hear me?" He was almost nose to nose with the teenager.

Richie tried to pull away again, but Duncan held fast, shaking him slightly.

"Richie!"

The boy raised his head and seemed to really look at him for the first time and Duncan was relieved to see a spark of recognition light his eyes.

"Maaac?"

"I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

"It's okay, okay," Richie started in his sing-song voice once more.

"Richie, stay with me!" Duncan cried as Tessa hurried in with an armload of blankets and dropped down beside them. Duncan wrapped several around the teen before raising his eyes to hers. "We have to get him to a hospital," he said, noticing the tears that ran silently down her cheeks.

"I'll drive," Marc offered, and MacLeod's eyes bore into the other man. What he saw there softened his stony features and he nodded briskly.

Tessa stepped aside as Duncan lifted Richie and strode out of the locker, with Marc leading the way. As they climbed the stairs, Richie's voice carried back to Henri who stood with his hand resting on Napoleon's head.

"I'll be good...promise, promise."

Henri bowed his head, trying to shut out the sound, knowing it wasn't possible. "I've lived too long," he said to the empty room.

************

The Hospital du Pontoise was a half hour drive from the estate-Marc made it in twenty minutes. Enveloped in blankets in the back seat, with Duncan and Tessa on either side, hugging him tightly, Richie's shaking gradually subsided to mild tremors. His drug-induced agitation only seemed to grow however, his struggles increasing until Duncan had Tessa move to the front seat out of harm's way. It took all of MacLeod's strength to hold the boy, who seesawed between rocking to and fro while mumbling in his sing-song voice, and sudden violent bursts of energy and screams that threatened to burst the Highlander's eardrums.

As soon as they pulled up in front of the hospital, Marc raced inside and returned with an orderly and gurney. Duncan gently placed the still struggling teenager on it, and watched helplessly as the boy was strapped down. The orderly wasted no time in wheeling the boy inside and the three adults followed close behind.

They had been left to pace in the confines of the waiting room after relating what little they knew of the boy's condition, joined by Elise, Tessa-Marie and Henri a short time later. Elise had the presence of mind to bring a change of clothing for all three, as they had left in nothing more than their bed clothes. Tessa was shocked when she realized that both she and Duncan were barefoot-in her concern for Richie she simply hadn't noticed. Nor had she noticed that Duncan was wearing nothing but pajamas bottoms, as was his habit. They changed quickly, unconcerned with their attire and settled into what would be a lengthy wait.

It was well past dawn when Duncan and Tessa found themselves alone in the hospital waiting room. Elise had taken a teary Tessa-Marie home, and Marc had an early morning meeting he couldn't reschedule. Tessa and Elise had banded together and convinced Henri to return home as well. Tessa promised to call with any updates on Richie's condition as soon as they received them, and her father had reluctantly agreed.

For reasons Tessa couldn't fathom, her father seemed to blame himself for Richie's situation. But, then again, she was feeling inexplicably guilty herself, and suspected Duncan was as well. They had pretty much dragged Richie along on this trip, regardless of his wishes, and he had tried to make the best of it, overlooking Marc's snide comments time and again, and going along with Henri's punishment regimen with only a minimum of grumbling.

It was during these few moments of privacy that Tessa related the conversation she and Henri had overheard between Richie and Tessa-Marie to Duncan. He absorbed the information of the boy's childhood abuse without saying a word, the tightening of his jaw the only sign of his inner struggle to maintain control.

By the time the attending physician finally brought the news that Richie's condition had stabilized, the couple's nerves were strung tighter than a bow. The boy had already been moved to one of their nicest private rooms-Henri's many donations to the hospital over the years assuring him of the best of care-and Duncan and Tessa hastened to the room to see Richie with their own eyes.

With multiple I.V.s feeding into his arms, and both his arms and legs strapped to the bed, Richie looked like someone's sick idea of a science experiment.

Although Duncan understood that the restraints had been essential in order to keep Richie from thrashing around in his hallucinogenic state, he couldn't bring himself to regard them as anything better than a necessary evil.

Richie looked so peaceful, his face relaxed in sleep, that the couple was hesitant to disturb him. Eventually the need to touch him and reassure herself that he was well became too much for Tessa. Drawing comfort from the man beside her, she tentatively reached out to lay her hand on the boy's pale cheek. Richie moaned and opened his eyes to find his friends standing over him with anxious expressions.

"Well, it's about time you woke up," MacLeod told him, smiling uncertainly, while Tessa busied herself tidying his unruly curls with her fingers and adjusting the bedcovers.

"Hey," the teenager muttered, groggily. He blinked several times trying to clear his vision and gave a rather chesty cough that had him wincing in obvious discomfort and scrunching up his eyes.

"Oooohh," he moaned, turning his head into the pillow.

"Head hurt?" MacLeod asked, sympathetically.

"Yeah." Richie seemed to notice his surroundings for the first time and struggled to sit up, discovering the fact that he couldn't move his arms or legs.

"Hey, what's the big idea!" he yelled, panic coloring his voice as he took in the restraints and the I.V.s at the same instant.

"Richie, settle down," Duncan instructed, with a calming hand on the boy's chest, alarmed by the teen's accelerated heart rate beeping madly on the overhead monitor. "Just hold still, and we'll get these off of you, okay?" He threw Tessa a look and moved to the foot of the bed to remove the straps on his ankles while she tackled those holding his wrists.

As soon as he was loose, Richie pulled his legs up to his chest and scooted back against the head board, looking like a frightened child as the heart monitor beat out a staccato rhythm. The transition from sleepy teenager to terrified child had occurred so quickly that MacLeod was slow to react and he mentally kicked himself.

Realizing belatedly that the kid was probably feeling some residual affects of the drugs, Duncan spoke to him softly, his tone level.

"It's okay, Richie, you're in the hospital just outside Pontoise. You had a little accident, but you're going to be fine." 

Richie shot Tessa a look and she nodded, shifting him over slightly and sitting beside him. "You gave us quite a fright, you know," she said, smiling reassuringly at him, while taking one of his fisted hands in hers and smoothing it open so she could intertwine her fingers with his.

Making another quick scan of the room and its contents, the teenager finally resettled his attention on MacLeod.

"What happened? How did I get here?" There was still an edge of fear in his voice, but his eyes had lost that 'deer in the headlights' look.

Duncan was about to explain when a nurse rushed in jabbering away in French. Tessa answered in English, for Richie's benefit, that he had been a little startled upon awakening, but he was fine now and would she please notify the doctor. Richie understood the nurse's brief response of "ah, oui," as she quickly withdrew after giving him a small smile.

When Duncan's attention refocused on the boy, Richie was giving a jaw-cracking yawn and blinking wearily in his direction. Whatever adrenaline rush he had experienced initially was rapidly winding down.

"I think we'd better talk later, Rich. You need to rest."

"'Kay," was the only response as Richie sank further into the mattress and dropped his head down on Tessa's shoulder. He was asleep in moments.

"I wish it was always that easy to get him to follow instructions," Mac said, amused in spite of himself.

"Duncan," Tessa admonished, just above a whisper, "what a thing to say." She gazed down at Richie's peaceful expression, a warm smile lighting her face and Duncan was struck again by how beautiful she was.

"Well, I'll come by later and see how you're both doing," he commented, turning as if to leave. "What?" Tessa exclaimed, slightly louder than she'd intended, but Richie slept on, dead to the world.

"Well......" Duncan said, indicating her position, "you don't want to disturb him, do you?"

Tessa glanced down at the curly head on her shoulder and the hand linked with hers and sent the Highlander a glare that should have burned holes in him. "If you walk out that door, Duncan MacLeod, so help me......."

Her body language must have communicated itself to her bedmate, who shifted slightly, frowning in his sleep. Duncan clucked his tongue at her and received another glare for his trouble while she tried and failed to break the deathgrip Richie had on her hand.

"Duncan," she pleaded, "do something." She sighed helplessly before adding, "pleeease."

"How can I resist, when you asked so sweetly?" Tessa shot him a look that promised retribution, which he chose to ignore under the circumstances.

Coming to stand on the opposite side of the bed, Duncan summed up the situation in a glance. He slid his arms under the sleeping teen, mindful of the I.V.s "When I move him, pull away," he instructed, before putting words to deeds and lifting Richie slowly. As the boy's head came clear of her shoulder, Tessa gave a sigh of relief and slid off the bed, adjusting the covers as Duncan resettled him in place. Richie's only response was to curl up on his side and murmur something unintelligible into his pillow as Tessa smoothed the blanket around him. She looked pointedly at the hand still clasped in hers as MacLeod studied the situation. He finally shrugged and reached over to pry Richie's fingers loose.

"Stop that," she hissed, slapping his hands away, "you'll hurt him."

Duncan rolled his eyes at that. The kid had been clouted on the head, drugged senseless, and had nearly frozen to death—-but prying his hand open was going to hurt him.

Tessa leaned down and kissed Richie's cheek. "Duncan and I have to go now, Richie, but we'll be back in a little while," she whispered in his ear, "all right?"

Richie shifted slightly, let out a long sigh, and released her hand.

Tessa straightened and gave MacLeod a superior smile, before retrieving her purse and sweater from a nearby chair. Looking down at Richie, Duncan could have sworn the kid was grinning and had to suppress the urge to smack him, contenting himself with visions of the lecture he was going to give him on avoiding trouble in the future. He left the room smiling.

************

Richie drifted in and out over the next twelve hours. At times he was alert enough to ask and answer questions, but more often he just drifted off again after a few minutes. Dr. Resau told the family not to be concerned by this, it was simply the drugs working their way out of the boy's system. Oddly enough, the drugs he'd been injected with had actually helped him fight off the extreme cold of the freezer-raising his heart rate and circulation, and delaying the onset of hypothermia.

From what little information Duncan managed to pull out of Richie during his more lucid moments, it was clear that the kid either couldn't, or didn't want to, remember much of the previous night's events. By evening, Richie was able to stay awake for longer intervals, but was obviously suffering from frequent and severe headaches-though he tried to deny it. Dr. Resau eventually chased everyone out and gave the boy something for the pain, over his mild protests.

When Duncan and Tessa arrived bright and early the next morning, Richie was sleeping soundly, and the doctor seemed pleased with his progress and related what he could regarding Richie's continued short-term amnesia.

"If it's physical, a result of the blow to the head, a reaction to the drugs, or a combination of both, he could remember at any time. However, if the memory loss is psychological, if it's the boy's way of dealing with the emotional trauma that occurred before the injection-or even after-it could take some time. You must accept the possibility that he may never remember."

Tessa, for her part, was determined to find out as much as she could about the kind of care the teenager would need, and how soon he would be released. Dr. Resau left the room some ten minutes later after promising to write up a set of instructions for her, looking a little the worse for wear. He had never before encountered such a force of nature as Tessa Noel on a maternal high.

The couple were loath to wake Richie and instead settled into a bedside chair together, Tessa sitting comfortably on Duncan's lap. He pulled her against his broad chest, wrapping his arms around her waist and running a hand up and down her arm. Tessa shifted to sit sideways, placed a hand on either side of Duncan's face, and leaned in to kiss him deeply.

"Jeez, are you two at it again?"

Tessa whirled around to find Richie watching them through half-closed eyes. She gasped and jumped to her feet with Duncan a step behind.

Richie struggled to sit up and Duncan quickly raised the head of the bed while Tessa adjusted the pillows behind the boy.

"How do you feel?" she asked, placing the back of her hand against his cheek to check for fever. "You're a little warm."

"I'm fine, Tess," he muttered, half-heartedly brushing away her hands.

"Richie, can you remember what happened? Do you know who did this to you?" The Highlander asked, repeating the question he had asked several times the day before.

"Duncan, don't press him, not now," Tessa chided. "I don't like his color."

"You wouldn't exactly look the picture of health in this get-up either," Richie threw back, picking at the front of his hospital gown in an attempt at his usual good humor.

"No, I suppose not," she replied, smiling at him fondly. "Can I get anything for you?"

"I'd kill for a Coke," he said, wistfully.

"Richie, that has no nutritional value at all, and all that sugar..."

"Tessa, I'm here because of a drug overdose. I don't think a little sugar's gonna hurt me," he explained, patiently.

She threw Duncan a look, but she could see she would get no support from the amused Scot. "I'll see what I can do."

"All right, Richie, how do you really feel?" Duncan asked, all business as soon as Tessa left the room.

"I told you guys, I'm...."

"Richie..." MacLeod's voice had dropped to an octave that made Richie squirm uncomfortably and drop the cocky grin.

"I've felt better," he reluctantly admitted.

"Could you be a little more specific?"

Richie frowned up at him. "I feel like crap, okay?" he said, with all the belligerence he could muster. "How would you feel if somebody shot *you* up and left you in a meat locker to die and you couldn't even remember what they looked like?"

"You said 'they'," Duncan pointed out.

"I did?" Richie said, rubbing his forehead.

"Yes." Duncan rested his hands on the mattress and stared at him intensely. "Do you remember more than one voice, or more than one face? Think, Richie, even something small might tell us a lot."

Richie tried to focus his memory on that night, closing his eyes and clenching his jaw until it ached, but all he felt was almost overwhelming anxiety. "I can't, Mac, I can't!" 

There was an edge of panic in his voice that made MacLeod back off. "It's all right, Richie," he said, straightening and patting the boy's shoulder until he calmed down again.

"Mac, the police were here last night," Richie informed him.

Duncan's jaw tightened noticeably. "I wondered when they'd get around to that."

"They asked me a lot of questions, but I couldn't tell *them* anything either. Mac, why can't I remember?" he asked in frustration.

"The doctor's not sure," Duncan admitted. "The last twenty-four hours hasn't been easy on you, Richie. Just give it some time." Duncan didn't tell him that the only prints the police had found on the syringe were Richie's, or that they weren't going to pursue the matter further, based on Richie's past history, and because of a lack of evidence.

Nothing more was said on the subject after Tessa arrived with Richie's drink and news that solid food was on its way.

The hospital breakfast consisted of poached eggs and dry toast. Richie felt well enough to make faces and complain about the taste, or lack thereof, and Tessa's unabashed delight over that fact had the teen shooting her a wounded look.

After ten minutes of watching him push the food around his plate, Tessa finally took the tray away. She exchanged glances with Duncan and sat down beside Richie, taking his hand in hers. "What is it?" she asked, gently.

The boy looked from one to the other before asking haltingly, "You guys don't think I took that stuff myself, do you?"

Tessa was clearly shocked by the question. "Richie, of course not. How can you even ask?"

"We know you don't use drugs, Rich," Duncan agreed, placing his hand on the boy's shoulder and squeezing it reassuringly.

"I'll bet Marc thinks I do."

"No, he doesn't," Tessa told him, no doubt in her mind. "He's been as worried as the rest of us."

Richie looked at her as if she'd lost her mind.

"It's true, Richie," Duncan confirmed. "He's been here several times to see you while you were asleep."

"Why? He doesn't even like me."

Duncan and Tessa shared a look of indecision. How could they tell him that the sight of him curled up on the floor of the freezer, reliving only a small piece of an obviously traumatic experience had effected Marc Charbonnier deeply?

"I don't know, Richie," Duncan said, finally. "Maybe it just opened his eyes to a few things. Like the fact that not everyone grew up in a house full of servants."

The teenager appeared to give that a lot of thought. "That's cool. I guess I can be magnanimous and forgive the guy."

"Magnanimous?" Duncan repeated. "Where did you pick that up?"

Assuming a lofty expression, Richie smiled casually up at him. "I guess all this culture's starting to rub off on me. Maybe I'll take up painting," he added, holding his thumb up at different angles and squinting at it as he'd seen Tessa do when studying a new subject.

"Heaven forbid," Tessa muttered. "The image of you with an palette full of water-resistant oils is enough to give me nightmares for a month."

Richie leaned toward MacLeod. "Professional jealousy, that's what it is," he confided, conspiratorially. "I mean who'd want to buy a Tessa Noel creation when they could have an original Richie Ryan?" he teased.

"There is only one original Richie Ryan," Tessa assured him, pinching his chin playfully, "and he already belongs to us."

He gave her a crooked grin. "I thought they abolished slavery."

"Not in France."

"Feel better?" Duncan asked, smiling himself.

Richie quickly turned serious. "Yeah. As long as you guys really don't think I..."

"Richie, we've been over that," Tessa reminded him, sternly. "It's settled, and I don't want to hear another word about it." Her voice was firm. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," Richie replied, with a small smile. "Je comprends."

Tessa smiled and brushed the back of her hand across his cheek. "You still feel a little warm to me."

"Maaac," Richie whined.

"There's no use appealing to him," Tessa said in her no-nonsense voice. "You're still running a temperature and that's that. Just because you're feeling better, does not mean you're well," she lectured. "You could have died from the cold alone, you know."

"Yes, it would be a shame to die so young, but c'est la vie," Richie said in a monotone that sent chills down Tessa's spine.

"Richie, why did you say that?" 

The teenager blinked up at her. "Say what?"

Duncan and Tessa shared a look of concern over the boy's head. "Nothing...never mind," Duncan said and quickly changed the subject. "I don't suppose you'd be interested in going home?"

Richie's face lit up. "You mean it...back to the barge?"

Duncan mentally kicked himself. "Well, maybe when you're feeling a little better, but for right now home is the chateau."

Richie's smile slipped, but after a quick glance at Tessa's crestfallen expression he quickly revived it. "Hey, great!" he said, with forced enthusiasm. "A guy could get used to living in the lap of luxury." 

His attempt didn't fool anyone.

"So, let's go." Richie threw the covers back and started to swing his legs out of bed.

"Whoa, kiddo," Mac said, laying a restraining hand on the boy's shoulder. "The doctor wants to check you over and run another blood test before he releases you, just to be on the safe side."

Richie groaned at that. "Jeez, haven't they got enough? What's that guy doing, starting his own personal blood bank with me the only donor?"

For all his complaining, Richie came through the check-up without a hitch, and was settled into his room at the chateau before noon. Of course, he wasn't very happy about being confined-not just to his room this time-but to his bed, as well. Two full days of bed rest, the doctor had said, and two full days of bed rest was exactly what he would have, if Tessa had anything to say about it. And she did...loudly enough for everyone to hear, even over Richie's protests. She did relent at mealtime, however, allowing him to throw on a robe and slippers and join them at the table.

When she announced 'lights out' a few hours later, Richie asked her sullenly how he was supposed to be tired enough to go to sleep when he'd spent the whole day in bed. When she checked on him again thirty minutes later, he was sleeping soundly.

An hour or two after the rest of the household turned in, Mac and Tessa were jolted awake by a shrill scream.

"That's Richie." Duncan was halfway down the hall before the sound died, with Tessa not far behind. 

When she got to Richie's room, Duncan had the boy by the shoulders and was shaking him gently. "Richie, it's all right. It was just a dream."

Richie looked over MacLeod's shoulder to the open door, and Tessa flinched. The boy's eyes were wild and unfocused, his expression similar to what it had been when they found him in the freezer.

"Bad dream," Richie repeated, as if trying to convince himself.

"That's right," Duncan agreed soothingly.

Marc and Elise appeared in the doorway behind Tessa, ready to lend support, but she shooed them back to bed sensing that Richie would be embarrassed by all the attention.

MacLeod released the boy's shoulders and saw him settled back against the headboard. "What was the nightmare about, Richie?"

"It's gone, I can't remember," he whispered, with his eyes closed. Richie took several shaky breaths and looked over at the couple with an expression that broke Tessa's heart. "I'm sorry."

"For what, having a bad dream? Don't be silly," she told him, moving to the bed and brushing the damp hair back from his forehead with gentle hands.

The kid was visibly shaking, and white as a sheet, but seemed determined to downplay his fear for their sake. "I'm okay," he murmured, putting on a brave face. "You guys should go back to bed." He gave them a tentative smile, then turned over on his side, facing away from them, and tried to calm his rapid breathing.

Duncan wanted to say something that might ease Richie's turmoil, but he couldn't think of anything appropriate.

Sensing that Duncan was out of his depth on this one, Tessa placed her hand on his arm and led him to the door. "You go, I'll be along in a little while."

MacLeod nodded gratefully, gave her a quick kiss, and left.

Tessa slowly moved around the bed, casually straightening the mangled bedcovers and humming quietly.

"What's that?" Richie asked her, after a moment.

Tessa gave him a small smile, and settled on the edge of the bed. "Clare de Lune. My mother used to sing it to me when I was younger."

"Tessa, I'm..."

"Yes, I know, you're incredibly old. Now, be quiet." She thought she caught a hint of a smile from him at that, and she leaned back against the headboard and continued humming until she felt him relax beside her. When she looked over at him again his eyes were closed and he was breathing evenly in sleep.

Tessa tucked the covers around him and quietly left the room.

"He asleep?" Duncan asked, as she slipped off her robe and climbed into bed beside him.

"Yes." She sat pensively beside him a moment before voicing her concerns. "Duncan, what do you think happened that night? I've been going over that day in my mind, and I can't think of anything out of the ordinary. What had Richie done that would make someone want to do this awful thing to him?"

"I don't know, Tessa," he admitted, taking her hand. "The only time he's left the estate was to go to Gaston's with Tessa-Marie. I questioned her about it and evidently he had a run-in with some rough characters."

She sat forward with a sudden intensity. "Do you think they followed them back here? Maybe that's it. Maybe it was some sort of petty revenge."

"No, I don't think so. Tessa-Marie said that Richie was very careful, and parked the car blocks away from the club. She also said that when the car broke down they were stranded on the side of the road for more than an hour. If they were followed, those men wouldn't have waited to attack Richie. They would have done it then, while he was isolated, not on a crowded estate." 

Duncan had obviously been giving the matter a lot of thought, and his reasoning was sound, much to Tessa's dismay. It would have been a relief to at least know why, if not who.

"Besides," he continued, "Richie's bed hadn't been slept in, but we saw him go to his room. That means either he was taken from his room by force-and I think we would have heard something-or he left it voluntarily." 

"Why would he do that?"

"Maybe he heard something," Duncan said, playing devil's advocate. "Maybe he was hungry and decided to raid the kitchen." Neither could contain a wry smile at the thought, since they had both caught him doing that very thing at all hours of the night back home.

"There are too many 'maybes', Tessa. I want some answers." MacLeod's tone of voice spoke volumes, and Tessa didn't envy the men who had injured Richie their fate once he found them. 

The couple settled back beneath the covers, finding sleep elusive for the better part of the night as each tried, and failed, to solve the puzzle.

*************

When Richie awakened, late the next morning, he decided he was sick and tired of feeling sick and tired, and dressed with a grim determination to find some answers for himself.

He threw on some clothes with little regard for fashion dos and don'ts and slowly opened the door to his room, peering out to determine that no one was around before starting for the stairs at a fast clip.

"Richie, what are you doing out of bed?"

Richie nearly stumbled at the sound of the female voice. He turned to find Tessa-Marie regarding him from the sitting room with an expression of obvious concern. 

She moved to his side and looked at him closely, noting the tell-tale circles around his eyes. "You should be resting."

Richie recovered quickly from her sudden appearance. "Hey, TM, I, uh...I thought I'd take a little walk. You know, get some fresh air."

"Aunt Tessa won't like it," she told him, looking troubled. "Doctor Resau said you were to stay in bed today and tomorrow, at the very least."

"Hey, I'm fine," Richie assured her, with a winning smile. "Don't worry about it. Besides, Tessa won't care."

"Oh, I think she will." This did not come from Tessa-Marie.

Richie swung around to find Tessa standing a few feet down the hall, arms crossed, regarding him with a deep frown. His smile slipped considerably. 

"Hi, Tess," he greeted, after plastering the smile back on his face. "Wow, you know you really look terrific. Blue's your color."

Tessa wasn't impressed by the compliment, or the smile. "Bed," she said, simply, pointing to the door of his room.

He wasn't smiling at all, now. "Aw, come on, Tessa. I feel a lot better," he cajoled. "Really," he added when she showed no signs of relenting.

Tessa's answer was to close the distance between them, take a firm hold of his arm, and escort him back to his room. "Bed," she said again.

He reluctantly perched on the very edge of the mattress while Tessa proceeded to calmly walk around his room picking up certain items of clothing and draping them over her arm. No area was left unsearched-she opened dresser drawers, checked the armoire, even peered under the bed before she seemed satisfied. 

He wanted to ask what she was doing, but he wasn't speaking to her. 

She quickly satisfied his curiosity.

"You won't be so eager to leave without these," she informed him, holding up her burden-every pair of pants he'd brought with him-save those he was currently wearing.

"I'll take those, too," she told him, evenly, seeming to read his thoughts.

"Huh?"

"Now, Richie," she said, in a no-nonsense tone.

"Tessa!" he exclaimed, indignation seeping from every pore.

"Richie, I've seen you in your underwear more times than I can count, but if you've suddenly developed modesty..." She turned to face the wall.

Richie glowered at her back, making no move to do as she instructed.

"If you need help...."

"No!" Richie exclaimed, then in a calmer tone of voice, "no, I can do it." He quickly kicked off his sneakers and shucked off his last pair of jeans before handing them to her, frowning mightily the entire time.

"Happy?" he asked, with ill grace.

"Not yet," she returned, smiling sweetly as she turned to face him. "Bed," she said for the third time, pointing to the object in question with her free arm.

"Maaan," Richie muttered, climbing under the covers and flopping back against the raised pillows like a petulant child. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the foot of the bed, refusing to meet her eyes.

"You'll get these back tomorrow... if your color's better," she added, quickly. She was at the door before she stopped and looked back at him. "I'll have Duncan move the television from the den up here," she conceded, reaching to close the door before thinking better of it and opening it wide.

Tessa's ambush appeared to set the tone for the rest of the day. It seemed to Richie that everyone made a point of dropping in to see him at least once and tell him how pale he looked. When MacLeod arrived with the promised television, Richie decided to beat him to the punch.

"I'm *not* pale, I'm just fair-skinned," he announced irritably.

"Okay," Duncan said with a bemused expression. "Feeling a little picked on, are we?"

"Are you sure you can't have kids?" Richie asked out of the blue.

Duncan frowned down at him, having a hard time following the kid's train of thought-which was, unfortunately, not a new experience. "Yeah, after all this time I'm pretty sure. Why?"

"Don't get me wrong, Mac, I love Tessa, but it sure would take a lot of pressure off me if you'd have a kid."

MacLeod smiled knowingly, finally understanding what Richie's skin tone had to do with fathering children. "Tessa's playing mother hen again, I take it."

"I'm eighteen, Mac."

"Yes, Richie, I know," Duncan told him with a great deal of patience. "Listen buddy, you're going to have to accept the fact that Tessa worries. It's what she does. You may miss that someday, you know."

"I know," Richie relented.

Duncan nodded, then added, "You know you do look awfully...fair-skinned."

"Thanks," Richie returned, sarcasm dripping.

After giving him a reassuring slap on the shoulder, Duncan told him to get some rest and headed back out.

"Maybe you could adopt!" Richie called after him. Mac just shook his head and kept going.

**********

That night was nearly a repeat performance of the first. Richie woke in a cold sweat, screaming incoherently, but tried to cover it when Duncan and Tessa appeared. 

"Can you remember anything, Richie, anything at all?" Duncan had sent Tessa back to bed, but refused to leave himself until he got something out of the kid. Richie couldn't go on like this night after night-none of them could. He'd considered hauling the boy back to Paris, but Tessa had to stay with the exhibit, and he didn't like the idea of leaving her unprotected. He'd come close to losing one of them already, he couldn't protect them both if they were hours apart. And, of course, Richie was just stubborn enough to not want to cut and run.

Richie shook his head tiredly. "It's just images, you know? Dark shapes and these voices I can't make out. It's cold, and I want to get away, but I can't."

"Why can't you?" Duncan asked, intent on the kid's every word.

"Something's got me," Richie replied, eyes locked on the foot of the bed as he tried to conjure up the elusive scene. "I can hear them talking, but I don't understand what they're saying." His frustration was a tangible thing as he punched the mattress. "I can't, Mac. I want to, but I can't."

The boy seemed near tears and MacLeod decided to back off, for now. "Okay, Rich. We'll talk about it again after you get some sleep."

"Yeah, sure."

Duncan patted him on the back reassuringly before heading for the door.

"A cat," Richie mumbled, behind him.

"What?" Duncan asked, startled.

"There was this cat, and it was smiling at me." He shook his head. "I know that doesn't make any sense."

"Get some sleep," Duncan repeated. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Good move, Ryan," he muttered to himself as soon as MacLeod left the room. "Now he probably thinks I'm nuts." He crawled back under the covers and tried counting sheep to take his mind off the dreams, but the sheep all turned into cats with big, teethy grins. Maybe he'd just stay awake all night, it was safer.

Richie's breath caught in his throat when his bedroom door started to slowly open once more, and he released the breath he was holding with a relieved sigh as Napoleon's curious face peered around the edge.

"What are you doing up here, General?"

The door opened further and MacLeod urged the large dog into the room. 

"I thought you could use a little company," the Highlander told him with a conspiratorial grin.

Richie's gaze drifted from the dog to the open door, before settling on Duncan with a fretful expression. "Elise isn't gonna like this."

"You can blame me," the Scot replied, unconcerned. "Just don't let him get on the bed."

"Thanks, Mac," Richie said, in a small voice.

MacLeod winked at him and started to close the door. "Pleasant dreams, Richie," he murmured before pulling the door to.

As soon as the door was firmly closed, Napoleon took a running step and jumped up on the bed. The sudden unexpected weight hitting the mattress nearly tossed Richie off onto the floor.

"Hey, you," Richie admonished, frowning at the large animal, "you heard what Mac said. Off!"

The canine merely flopped down and rested his head in Richie's lap, looking up at him with a woeful expression.

"You think I'm a soft touch, huh?" Richie grumbled, trying to sound stern.

Napoleon lifted his head and regarded the boy with his tongue lolling from his mouth. Richie grinned and patted the dog's large head. "Okay, so you're right." He reclined against the pillow, eyeing the animal over the top of the comforter. "Just promise me you won't turn into a cat."

************

At breakfast Duncan and Tessa were relieved to see that Richie appeared more rested and almost back to his old self, cracking wise throughout the meal. For his part, Richie was just happy to be back in jeans and considered the fact that Tessa had returned them a sign that his convalescence was over.

Marc and Elise left the table to run an errand as soon as they were finished, leaving the other five to finish their meal in a leisurely fashion.

"Your father's amassed quite a collection of antiques since we saw him last, TM," Duncan observed.

Tessa-Marie smiled at the use of her nickname before answering. "Yes, Papa is a, a..."

"Connoisseur," Richie supplied.

Both Duncan and Tessa looked at Richie with some surprise. "When did you become an expert on collectors?"

"I don't know," Richie answered, dismissing the subject with a shrug.

"Marc seemed a little upset this morning," Tessa commented, resuming their conversation.

"Yes, he said something about losing his financial advisor," Duncan replied, sipping his morning coffee.

"The man we met the other night?"

"Right. Evidently he got an offer in Turin, Italy, and he has family there."

She turned her attention back to her croissant. "I know Marc depended on him, but I can't say I cared for him, myself."

"First impression, Tessa?" he teased.

"Women's intuition," she corrected.

Reading the paper at the other end of the table, Henri merely grunted his opinion of her statement.

As everyone was leaving the dining room, Marc and Elise returned with Charles Bonner in tow. The man didn't appear eager to come inside, and not at all pleased to see the welcoming committee.

"Speak of the devil," Duncan said in an aside to Tessa.

"Don't be ridiculous, Charles," Marc was saying, "you have several weeks' pay coming and I insist you take it."

"Ah, Duncan, Tessa, you remember Charles."

"Yes, of course."

Bonner's eyes darted from the adults to Tessa-Marie and Richie, who stood slightly apart from them. Noting that Richie appeared at ease and showed no signs of recognition, the man relaxed visibly and gave them a wide smile.

"I must apologize for the intrusion, but Monsieur Charbonnier can be quite persuasive."

"No need to apologize. Marc is going to miss your services," Henri toned diplomatically, and Bonner's smile widened even further.

"He looks like the cat that ate the canary," Tessa-Marie whispered, just loud enough for Richie to hear.

"What?" Richie heard his voice from what felt like a great distance as a loud ringing started in his ears. The floor seemed to sway under his feet and he struggled to breathe normally as the memories rushed in. A dozen images came to him at once...a smiling face, a journal, a cold cement floor, a syringe. Richie made a strangled sound in a throat that suddenly wouldn't obey him and his eyes locked on Charles Bonner.

"Richie? Richie, what's wrong?" Tessa wrapped a supportive arm around his waist and threw a worried glance at Duncan.

"Rich, Richie what is it?" MacLeod asked, moving to the boy's other side. He took Richie's chin in his hand and forced the teenager to look up at him. Richie's eyes immediately slid away to lock on Bonner once more.

Duncan followed his gaze to the other man and in his mind's eye the pieces of a puzzle came together. He looked back at the teenager beside him with an intense expression. "Was it him, Richie?" he asked, softly. "Was it Bonner?"

"Yes," Richie rasped out, taking deep breaths and hanging onto Tessa's arm like an anchor in a storm.

"Is he having a relapse?" Marc inquired, stepping toward them.

Bonner had sensed the change in the room a second before Marc stepped in front of him. He used the temporary shield to reach into his suit jacket and withdraw his latest acquisition. Moving swiftly, he shoved Marc forward and grabbed Tessa-Marie's arm, pulling the girl back with him.

Marc recovered from the near fall and spun around to confront his accountant. "Charles, what in the world....?" He trailed off as he saw the gun pressed to his daughter's head. "What the hell do you think you're about?!" he shouted, and moved to free her.

A loud report issued from the gun in Bonner's hand. Elise and Tessa-Marie both screamed, and Marc staggered backwards, a hand to his shoulder and a look of shock on his face. Elise rushed to her husband and helped Duncan settle him on the floor. She hugged Marc's side with one arm and grasped Tessa's comforting hand with the other.

Both Duncan and Henri stepped forward.

"Unless you relish seeing more blood, I would stay where you are," Bonner advised, and Tessa-Marie sobbed piteously in his grip.

"Leave the girl, she's just a child," Duncan said. "If you want a hostage, I'll go."

Bonner gave a smile devoid of warmth. "I do not think so, Monsieur MacLeod. You would not be so malleable, I think."

Richie looked from Tessa-Marie's frightened face to Elise and Marc, and suddenly stepped away from Tessa's side. "Then take me."

"Richie, no!" Tessa made a grab for his arm, but Elise still had a tight grip on her other hand, and he moved beyond her grasp.

"Look, you don't want to take a girl," Richie reasoned, staying well clear of Duncan, as well. "I mean, she's already crying. You want to have to listen to that when you've got other things to worry about?" When Charles didn't cut him off, but seemed to be considering the suggestion, he hastily added incentives. "Okay, suppose something goes wrong?" he said, speaking rapidly, "you don't really want to kill her, do you? Hey, you've already tried to off me, right? I mean, look at all the trouble I've caused you-wouldn't you like another crack at it?"

MacLeod's face was darkening more and more by the minute. "Richie, come over here," he ordered, pointing to the ground by his side.

"No," Bonner said, drawing everyone's attention once more. "I believe I will accept your kind offer. Come here, boy...quickly!"

Duncan moved forward as if to intervene.

"That would not be wise," Bonner informed him, pressing the gun to Tessa-Marie's temple, bringing forth new tears from her and a cry of alarm from Elise.

Richie quickly raised his hands in a placating gesture. "I'm coming, okay? Just chill."

As soon as the boy was within reach, Bonner released Tessa-Marie and swiftly grabbed Richie, wrapping his left arm around the kid's shoulders and pulling the boy's back up against his chest. Now the gun rested against the side of Richie's head.

"Go to your parents, petite," Charles instructed, and Tessa-Marie flew to her mother's waiting arms with an anguished cry.

Richie smiled wryly at the touching reunion and tried to calm his rapidly beating heart.

"We will be going, now," Bonner informed the room at large. "Do nothing, and the boy will live—follow or call the gendarmes, and I will take great pleasure in putting a bullet in his brain...like so." He mimicked pulling the trigger and Richie flinched, involuntarily.

Henri stepped forward, standing at his full height. "Know this, Charles Bonner, should any harm come to the boy, there is nowhere on this earth you will be safe from me."

Richie's mouth dropped open at the older man's words. He hadn't really taken the 'member of this family' speech seriously before...now he began to wonder.

Bonner merely inclined his head, apparently unconcerned by the threat. It was only as his gaze drifted to MacLeod, and their eyes met, that his smile disappeared completely. There was something in the Scot's face he found disquieting...an eerie calmness totally out of place with the circumstances. For the first time in a very long while, Charles Bonner felt unsure of himself. He didn't like that. He didn't like that at all.

In a twisted form of retaliation, he grasped Richie's left arm and pulled it roughly up behind him. Richie gasped as the arm was raised higher and a sudden knife-like pain shot up between his shoulder blades.

Bonner's smile returned as the boy shifted his feet in a vain attempt to lessen the pressure.

"You're hurting him!" Tessa cried out.

Bonner turned innocent eyes her way. "Am I?" He eased his tight hold on Richie's arm only fractionally. "My apologies. I trust you won't hold it against me."

Lying in Elise's arms, Marc moaned in self-recrimination. How could he have exposed his family to this sick individual, how could he have let this happen?

"As I said," Bonner continued, "we will be going." He maneuvered Richie through the door, keeping an eye on the room as long as possible.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Duncan was in motion. "Keep everyone inside," he told Tessa before grabbing his leather jacket, slipping out the French doors and disappearing around the side of the house.

"Where is he going?" Henri asked, coming to stand beside his daughter.

"To get Richie," she replied with confidence.

Duncan moved swiftly and silently along the edge of the front garden, skirting the trees lining the drive on that end until Bonner and his hostage came into view. No hope for it, now, stealth would have to be discarded with nothing but open space between the Scot and his quarry.

Bonner, with Richie still in a tight hold, was casting glances around them as he moved toward his car as quickly as he could with his reluctant companion in tow.

To the teenager, it seemed as if Mac simply stepped out of thin air-one minute he wasn't there, and the next, he was.

Bonner saw him at the same moment, and quickly readjusted his hold on the boy, pressing the gun hard against the side of Richie's head.

"Ah, MacLeod, you are quite persistent it seems. Move away, unless you want the boy to die."

Duncan hesitated and looked at Richie's face-his very young face-and sighed inwardly. He didn't for one minute believe Bonner would release the boy unharmed. If Richie was going to die, better that it happen here, with him, than on a desolate road somewhere. He reached behind him and drew his sword.

Bonner's eyes widened but the smile remained. "Do you really think that is any match for a gun?" He laughed harshly, and shifted his gaze to the piece of metal in his hand. "Not very attractive, I'll grant you, but extremely effective, particularly at such close range. You will hand that to me, s'il vous plait," he instructed, eyeing the sword.

"I have every intention of giving it to you," MacLeod replied smoothly.

Charles tensed at the implication and Richie sensed, rather than saw, the man's finger tighten on the gun's trigger.

Saying a silent prayer, Richie thrust his elbow back into the man's chest, earning a moment of freedom before an iron fist connected with his stomach, dropping him to his knees on the gravel drive as the air rushed from his lungs. He felt the sharp stones bite into the flesh of his exposed knees as his jeans ripped, and he struggled to draw a clean breath. Events seemed to be moving in slow motion as he looked up from the ground to see Bonner raising the gun and pointing it at Duncan, who was hesitating to use his katana with Richie in the middle.

The teenager found his feet and propelled himself upward, striking the gun arm as the shot was fired. Richie's ears rang and he barely registered the fact that he wasn't hit before he found himself lying on the ground again, his jaw on fire from Bonner's second blow.

"Richie, stay down!" he heard the Highlander roar above him as he tensed for a bullet in the back.

A shadow fell across him, and he heard a grunt that did not come from MacLeod. He gave a slight yelp as a heavy body dropped on top of him and he struggled to roll over. Strong hands slipped under his arms and pulled him clear, lifting him to his feet in one fluid motion. 

He almost wished he had stayed on the ground when he saw MacLeod's face.

"Are ye hurt?" Duncan's brogue was showing, and that was not a good sign.

"No, no, I'm okay," Richie managed to get out.

Still in the Scot's firm grip, Richie looked around to see Bonner lying face-down in the drive, blood seeping from underneath him.

"Is he dead?"

"I hope so." There was no emotion in Duncan's voice, but Richie knew he didn't take killing a mortal lightly.

"Duncan!" Tessa raced up to them and MacLeod released Richie to catch her in his arms. She gave him a quick once over before settling her gaze on the teenager.

"You're hurt," she exclaimed, placing her hands gently on his rapidly swelling jaw and feeling for a broken bone.

"It's nothing, Tess," he tried to assure her, but even as the words left his mouth she had moved on to his torn and bloody knees. "My God, Richie, what happened?"

Duncan was frowning darkly. "You said you weren't hurt," he said angrily.

"What is this?" Tessa had found a hole in Richie's shirt collar—a small round hole that cleanly pierced the material, missing his neck by less than a quarter of an inch.

Richie realized with a sickening clarity that it was a bullet hole.

There was a sudden ringing in his ears and he laughed, a sound that seemed to come from a great distance. "Jeez, that's cutting it a little close, huh?" He gave the couple a sick smile just before his legs gave out on him.

Duncan caught him as he fell, pulling the boy up against his chest.

"I'm okay," Richie muttered woozily, as his head swam. "No problem."

MacLeod swore under his breath and hoisted Richie up and over his shoulder, gripping the back of the boy's legs tightly enough to make Richie groan as his knees brushed up against the larger man's jacket. Duncan made for the house with a determined stride.

"Hey, take it easy big guy, precious cargo," Richie quipped weakly, as Mac shifted the boy's weight on his shoulder.

Being cocky was a mistake at that particular moment and Duncan gave serious thought to dumping the kid on his head. Walking beside him, Tessa sensed his intent and lay a calming hand on his arm until the impulse passed.

Tessa wasn't satisfied until she had cleaned, disinfected and bandaged both of his knees and gotten an icepack for his swollen jaw. She was solicitous during her ministrations, but frowned at him continually throughout the process, slapping his hands when he tried to adjust the bandages and muttering in French under her breath whenever she chanced to look at his bruised face.

When the police arrived, Richie related everything he remembered about the night Charles and Andre attempted to kill him-along with a few details on this morning's attack-and they immediately put out a warrant on Charles' accomplice. He left Duncan to explain how he had come to kill Bonner with a sword.

Marc had suffered a flesh-wound and chipped collarbone, but had refused to go to the hospital until he was assured that Richie was unharmed, his obvious concern making the teenager regret his earlier opinion of the man.

Tessa-Marie had taken one look at Richie and promptly burst into tears once more. Elise escorted her daughter from the room after singing Richie's praises and kissing his cheek repeatedly, raising a blush on the young man's face.

Henri was not so quick to praise him, however. After telling Richie quite emphatically that he was never, under any circumstances, to do anything like that again, he pulled the startled teen into a fierce hug, then left him with Duncan and Tessa in the billiards room.

This was the moment Richie had been dreading. Mac and Tessa had been *way* too quiet the last couple of hours-like the calm before a storm. When he finally summed up the courage to turn and face them, MacLeod was leaning casually against the wall and Tessa was a short distance away standing hands-on-hips.

"Pretty wild, huh?" Richie tried, grinning. The only reaction was a slight thinning of Tessa's lips; Duncan didn't move a muscle.

"Okay," he said, trying another approach, "I know what you're gonna say. 'I'm too reckless; I should have let you handle it; I could have been killed.'" He ticked each item off on his fingers. "Oh, and 'What were you thinking?' Did I forget anything?" he asked glibly.

MacLeod detached himself from the wall, smiling. "Not a thing," he said amiably, and started toward the boy.

This approach to his antics was something new, and Richie was starting to get nervous. "Uh, time out, guys, okay?" he offered, while backing away from Duncan's slow but steady advance. "I mean, can't we talk about this."

"Talking to you doesn't seem to do much good, Rich," MacLeod returned, never slowing his stride.

Richie didn't like the sound of that, or the look on MacLeod's face.

"Tessa!" he cried beseechingly, but she turned a deaf ear, determined not to interfere this time.

Duncan continued his advance toward the hapless teenager, who maneuvered as best he could around the heavily furnished room. Climbing over a divan, while MacLeod walked around it, backing into the billiard table before quickly skirting its edge and trying to cast glances over his shoulder to get his bearings while keeping an eye on the Highlander at the same time. He just barely missed crashing into a large urn and side-stepped to his left hastily, only realizing his mistake when Duncan neatly cut off his only avenue of escape and closed the gap between them.

Grabbing up a couple of crystal tumblers from the bar top, Richie smiled up at him. "You wouldn't hit a guy with glasses, would you?" he asked hopefully. 

Duncan halted in mid-step at that and heard something that sounded suspiciously like laughter coming from Tessa's direction. He turned slightly to throw a reproachful look over his shoulder at her where she stood to find her eyes sparkling with amusement and a hand clamped over her mouth to still any further outbursts.

He returned his gaze to the boy, who watched him apprehensively, still clutching the glasses in his hands as if they were talismans to ward off evil.

"Give me those," he grumbled, snatching the tumblers and placing them back on the bar before turning his regard back to the teenager who squirmed uncomfortably under the close appraisal. A slight tremor ran through the kid, which someone else might have missed. 

MacLeod never seemed to miss anything.

Remembering belatedly that this had been Richie's first day out of bed, Mac swore under his breath, then took a firm hold on Richie's arm and half led, half carried him over to the couch where he gently but firmly pushed him down.

"Stay put," he ordered, taking off his leather jacket and draping it around the boy's shoulders, "and don't say one word," he added, in a tone that didn't brook an argument.

Richie looked ridiculously young sitting there in MacLeod's much-too-large jacket and trying not to draw any unwanted attention. The Highlander, for his part, was pacing back and forth in front of the couch, trying to work off some of his frustration.

"Why, Richie?" he asked finally, standing directly in front of the teenager.

The boy slowly looked up at him. "You saw TM, she was scared to death."

"And you *weren't* scared?"

Richie opened his mouth to deny it, remembered Duncan carrying him inside, and closed it again. "Maybe I was a little scared." A heavy sigh followed this admission. "Maybe more than a little."

"Then why, Richie?" Tessa asked, this time. "What if he had killed you?"

"More room in the car for luggage on the drive home," he replied flippantly, attempting a grin. Tessa and Duncan just continued to watch him until the grin turned into a frown.

"Hey, TM's got a mother and father, and a grandfather...and an aunt," he added, looking at Tessa. "It would really hurt a lot of people if something happened to her."

"And what if something happened to you?" MacLeod again.

Richie looked at him as if he didn't understand the question, then shrugged.

"Didn't you stop to think about that?" Duncan pressed.

"Look, for a long time there was just me, you know? And if I got hurt, well, *I* got hurt and it didn't matter to anybody else." He looked away from the couple then. "Sometimes it didn't matter much to me, either," he said so quietly that they almost didn't hear...almost.

Duncan and Tessa shared a look of pain at the words, which they quickly covered as the boy turned back to them.

"So maybe if I do something risky from time to time..." he continued facing them again.

Duncan's eyebrow rose clear to his hairline at this, so Richie rephrased it.

"Okay, *when* I do something risky, it's because it's taking a while for it to sink in that, maybe, I'm not the only one who gets hurt."

"There's no 'maybe' about it, Richie," Duncan told him and smiled slightly when the boy finally looked up at him.

Richie smiled awkwardly back at him. "I don't know why you guys keep me around," he admitted finally, then grimaced as if he hadn't actually meant to say it out loud.

"Richie..."

"Come on, face it, Mac," the boy said. ""I'm not Duncan MacLeod, of the clan MacLeod, Immortal extraordinaire. And I'm not Tessa Noel, of the family Noel, renowned artist and museum curator. I'm just Richie Ryan, of the clan 'nothing', of the family 'no one'. That's all."

Tessa didn't know whether to smack Richie or hug him-a feeling that was all too familiar. She decided against either and settled beside him on the couch, resting a hand on his arm. "Richie, don't you know how much it would hurt Duncan and me if something happened to you?" She looked to Duncan for confirmation before adding in a clear voice, "We love you, don't you know that?"

Richie stared at her with startled blue eyes, glanced up at Duncan, then back down again, back to Duncan, then stared at a large lamp in the corner. "Love you, too," he said quietly, though just as clearly.

Tessa smiled and patted his hand. "We know," she said, trying to lessen his discomfort. A noise somewhere behind Duncan fortunately drew everyone's attention a moment later.

"Looks like we've got company," Duncan remarked, motioning to the French doors with a grin.

Napoleon sat regarding them with what could be termed expectation. MacLeod reached over and opened one of the doors and the dog immediately trotted over to Richie and licked his hand. He then proceeded to sit down casually on the floor next to the boy and actually lean on him as if this were the most natural thing in the world.

"Hey, General," Richie greeted, kneeling carefully on one bandaged knee and patting the dog's muscular chest. "You missed all the action."

"I've never seen a dog bond to someone that quickly before," Tessa commented.

"Yeah, the dumb dog's taken a liking to me," Richie said, and shrugged. "Go figure."

"Yeah," Duncan repeated, smiling as Tessa looped her arm through his and they regarded Richie together, "go figure."

*************

Over the next two days the Noel household went through some major changes. Henri, who at seventy was still sharp as a tack, took over as Marc's financial advisor-at least temporarily. Marc was busy recovering from his injuries and trying to make heads or tails out of his accounts while his wife and daughter played nurse.

Tessa decided that her assistant could damn well watch over the exhibit for the duration of its stay in Pontoise. She was going back to Paris, where it was quiet, with her two favorite men.

The morning of their departure saw Duncan and Richie fighting to fit the luggage back in the Citroen, along with a few extra bags that miraculously appeared out of nowhere. Duncan glowered at Tessa, but managed to find room for them under the seats.

Richie had hoped to get off without emotional good-byes, but it was not to be. Elise kissed both his cheeks and handed him a wrapped package, telling him sternly that he was not to open it until he got back to Paris. Henri pulled him into another hug that threatened to crack a few ribs, reminding him that he was to consider the estate a home away from home. And Tessa-Marie announced, loud enough for everyone to hear, that he was a hero, laughing delightedly at the blush that rose on his face at this. 

"Yeah, well, you know," he stuttered, blushing even more as he heard the Highlander chuckle behind him.

"Ready to go, Rich?"

"Uh, yeah," he answered, bending to give Tessa-Marie a quick hug and kiss before turning toward the car.

Marc Charbonnier blocked his path. "I wish to apologize for the way I treated you when you first arrived. It was unjustified," he said, humbly.

Richie gave him an awkward smile. "Hey, if I had everything you've got, I probably wouldn't want someone like me around either."

"Then you would be a fool," Marc replied, bluntly. "I would consider myself extremely fortunate to have 'someone like you' around." He smiled and clapped the stunned teenager on the shoulder before joining his wife and daughter.

"Come on, Richie," MacLeod urged, taking the boy by the arm and leading him the last few steps to the Citroen.

The last thing Richie saw before the car rounded the corner of the driveway was Pierre gesturing wildly at Henri with one hand, and holding a withered topiary bear's head in the other.

"Um, Mac...drive faster."

END


End file.
